


The Crucible

by deepestfathoms



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - High School, Anna is a good gf, Blood, Blood and Gore, Bullying, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, George Boleyn Is A Himbo, Harassment, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Menstruation, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Physical Abuse, Prom, Psychic Abilities, Redemption, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Social Anxiety, Soft Anne of Cleves, Soft Catherine of Aragon, Soft Katherine Howard, Survivor Guilt, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, but nothing actually happens, child grooming, this one with the tour cast! and set in high school!, yes another Carrie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 108,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: "Name, please.""...""State your full name.""You already know my name, it's Katherine! Katherine Howard. Can you turn down that light? I can't see.""Tell us about the night of May 28th. About the occurrences that led up to the alleged event.""Alleged event? Why are you asking me the same thing over and over again? Are you trying to catch me in a lie? Is that it?""We want the truth.""I've already told you the truth! How many times do we have to go through this?""Until we understand.""What you need to understand is that we were just kids! Kids trying to do our best. We were kids...who made a mistake."
Relationships: Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr, Anne of Cleves/Katherine Howard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	1. Hail of Stone

**Author's Note:**

> yes i KNOW i already have a Carrie AU but i still have so many feelings and ideas for this AU so here is another one!! it's set in high school and follows the book and 2002 movie more than the first one. it's also with the UK Tour cast, so, like, Katherine is Jodie!Kat and Aragon is Lauren!Aragon and Joan is Arlene!Joan. just look up that cast if you don't know what they look like.

“What can you tell me about Joan Seymour?”

Eighteen year old Katherine Howard leaned back in her chair, arms crossed firmly over her chest, eyes set on the detective in front of her. He was a grizzly man named James Mulaney, with wide shoulders, neatly combed brown hair, and hazel eyes. He looked at Katherine like he wanted to open up her brain and read through all her thoughts and memories.

“What do you want to know?”

“Was she a friend of yours?” Mulaney asked.

“Joan didn’t have friends.” Katherine answered without a beat.

Mulaney quirked a brow. “Really? When I was in school, even the losers had birds of a feather.”

Katherine scoffed at his assumptions and gazed down at the doughnut she had been given when she came in for questioning that morning. She scratched at crusted pieces of glaze with her pointer finger; the paint on the fingernail is vibrant pink and peeling. She had chewed off most of her nails during all the funerals that had filled the past two weeks.

“Joan wasn’t a loser,” She said. “She just didn’t belong.”

“And why is that?” Mulaney pressed.

“It’s not rocket science.” Katherine said. “We are talking about Joan Seymour.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to belong.”

“Everybody wants to belong,” Katherine said. Her dark amber eyes flickered as she lifted her head to stare at Mulaney. “Anybody who tells you they don’t is lying.”

——

The early afternoon was glorious. Sunbeams glinted off dewdrops clinging to blades of emerald green grass and the sky was a clear bright blue for once, letting the sun rain down on the high school campus.

And that was exactly why Miss Aragon’s fourth period gym class was inside.

The sound of splashing echoed loudly throughout the indoor pool, the smell of chlorine thick in the air. Girls donned in black or blue or red one piece swimsuits and black swim caps were wrestling and romping in the water as they waited for the ball to be served so they could continue the game of water volleyball. Miss Aragon, clad in a yellow and black tracksuit and her usual shiny silver whistle, watched over them from the sides of the pool, eyes sharp and focused.

“Come on, ladies!” She shouted. “Let’s try to keep it in the air three times, alright?”

Katherine got into a defensive position, eyes narrowed into slits and hands out. Her sharp-tongued, gremlin-like older cousin, Anne Boleyn, got into the same stance at her side and flashed her a smirk before lunging up to hit the ball that flew over the net. Katherine copied her when it came back over, and this process repeated until a girl on the other side missed and the white ball landed in the water with a loud plop.

“Yeah!!” Anne cheered. She and Katherine locked hands and twirled around in the water, giggling. “We are graduating this year, Miss Ar-a-gon!!”

Katherine leaned her head back and saw Miss Aragon chuckling fondly at their antics. She signaled for the girls to get ready and Katherine and Anne parted, ready to get their team another point.

But they didn’t. 

Because the ball was hit far and the girl who was supposed to be occupying the back space was standing at the edge of the pool, dry as can be, and staring dumbly at the ball that splashed below her.

All eyes turned to Joan Seymour, the frog amongst swans.

She was an undernourished, stunted mess of a human being. Lanky and gaunt, with a narrow chest, hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes that were so bright ice blue that they seemed to glow in the overhead light. Her limbs were too long for her thin body, while her body was too thin for her long limbs. She was pale, like she rarely ever went outside during the day and bathed in moonlight instead, and wiry platinum, almost white, blonde hair fell around her lean skull. The black swimsuit she wore did not compliment her frame very well, hugging tightly around pudgy thighs and forearms with tufts of brown pubic hair sticking out from the crotch area, and the lack of protection revealed dozens of cuts and bruises in various stages of healed to prying eyes. There was one in particular on her left shoulder that was crusted in bubbles of dried pus and blood; it made Katherine’s nose curl in disgust when she saw it.

Joan was only 15, Year 11 and two grades below Katherine, but Katherine had known her since Primary School. Everyone did. Everyone knew about Ol’ Prayin’ Joan and her crazy mother. And that made her a target for even the lowest of losers. There’s been years worth of teasing and messing around with this girl. School days full of pinching and tripping and knocking books over. Peanut butter smeared in too-light-to-be-natural hair when she was sleeping in Algebra and inappropriate notes slipped into her binders. Scorpions put into her shoes, thumbtacks poised on her chairs, lunches dumped over her head. Dozens of games created to see who could make Joan cry first or who could make Joan get down on her knees and pray to God or who could dunk Joan underwater the most at summer camp. Slurs and rude nicknames were tossed her way, worms were put in her food, and spit was spat on her as she passed by. People laughed when she presented, people begged the teacher to switch partners when they were put into a group with her, people destroyed her work so she would have nothing to turn in when she got to certain classes.

Everyone made fun of Joan Seymour, and if she knew this, she never did anything about it.

Joan lifted her head like an impeded cow and blinked slowly at Miss Aragon, who was frowning pitifully at her. She looked back down at the ball, then the water, and then she took a shuffling step backwards, hugging her arms tightly around herself.

“Do you think she’s retarded?” Maria de Salinas not-quite-whispered to Katherine and her friends. Her golden brown eyes were scrutinizing Joan with great distaste that she didn’t bother hiding on her face. At her side, bleach-haired Bessie Blount giggled softly. Katherine shrugged.

“I bet she is,” Impish Maggie Wyatt said, glancing back at Joan, who was slowly inching further and further away from the edge of the pool. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Does she never take that necklace off?” Bessie said, staring at the silver cross necklace coiled around Joan’s gangly neck.

“Doubt it,” Maria said.

“I bet she thinks she’ll die if she does,” Maggie tittered. “That God will strike her down if she does such a disgraceful thing!” And then she does a dramatic reenactment of what that would probably look like and the group burst into giggles. Miss Aragon glanced at them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Alright, let’s get Joan Seymour in the game.” Their coach announced, much to everyone’s dismay. But nobody looked more dismayed than Joan, who gave Miss Aragon a miserable, fearful look. Miss Aragon frowned at her again. “Sorry, honey. You can’t sit on the sidelines forever.”

Joan stared nervously down at the water, then glanced one last time up at Aragon. When she must have realized that she wasn’t getting out of this, she put on her swim cap and slowly eased herself into the pool, pulling her arms close to her chest and cringing at the temperature. The other girls watched her impatiently.

“Good,” Miss Aragon said, smiling at Joan proudly. “Joan, serve.”

The ball is tossed to the girl and she goggled at it with wide pale blue eyes. Tentatively, she picked it up and held it as if it were a fragile dragon egg.

“Yeah, Joan!” Anne suddenly cheered. “Go, Joan!”

Katherine and her friends glanced at her and then began to mimic her. Joan blinked at them in delight.

“Come on! Do it! Serve it!” Anne encouraged. “Throw it!”

Joan shook herself out, tossed the ball up, and hit it directly into the back of Katherine’s head.

“OW!!” Katherine yelled. She reached around to rub the back of her head and glowered at Joan as giggling exploded around her. “What the hell?” She snapped her head to her cousin. “Oh, hahaha! It’s so funny, Anne!”

Everyone in the pool was laughing, now. Joan watched them in silence for a moment before giggling softly, too, and smiling apologetically. She looked just like a stupidly oblivious bovine.

“You eat shit.” Anne said to her, throwing the ball to Maria.

Like that, Joan shut up. Her smile contorted into a frown in an instant and her eyes lost the slight glow they had before. She lowered her head and didn’t raise it for the rest of the class as she tried to sink into the background.

Katherine’s team ended up losing the game seven to sixteen because the other side kept hitting the ball to Joan, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hit it back or make it over the net. Everyone kept glaring at her and shooting barbed remarks her way each time she missed, and Aragon did her best to ward them off, but not even their coach could catch every insult hurled her way.

“‘Oh, I can’t serve the ball! I can’t serve the ball!’” Maggie cried woefully in an awful imitation of Joan’s voice. She whacked the top of Joan’s head with her knuckles as she waded by. “Serve the ball, stupid!”

Joan flinched back so hard she nearly submerged herself in the water. She backed against the pool’s rough edge, watching everyone climb out from the ladders like a plaintive calf waiting to be herded into the slaughterhouse. Anne wrinkled her nose at her, while Katherine rolled her eyes. The girl was so pitiful that it was just pathetic.

“Come on, Joan,” Miss Aragon said, peering down at the misfit child. There was something in her voice that gave the impression that she spent a lot of time managing this particular student. “Hit the showers.” She tilted her head at her, noticing creases of affliction on Joan’s face. “Is everything alright?”

“M-my stomach…” Joan whispered so quietly Miss Aragon almost didn’t hear her over the sound of chitchat and splashing water. “It hurts…”

Miss Aragon frowned. “I’m sorry, Joan.” She said. “You can go to the nurse after you get changed? I can write you a pass if you’d like.”

Joan shook her head, then slowly walked over to the ladder and squabbled out of the pool. She was shivering instantly from her lack of body fat, despite it being quite warm inside from all insulation, and awkwardly shuffled her way to the locker room.

Shampoo of lavender and pear, coconut and watermelon, honey and vanilla all mixed together into an overwhelmingly sweet odor that wafted throughout the room. It was almost as thick as the steam whirling from the many hot showers going on. White bars of soap were passed between hands and loud conversations were made over the sound of sputtering water from stall to stall. Wet swimsuits were peeled off and replaced with regular school clothes, jewelry, and expensive shoes. Girls pinched and poked one another playfully, but no one dared to touch the gangly, emaciated girl who stepped inside and looked around dumbly.

Joan passed everyone with a lowered head, not daring to look up as she hobbled her way to the showers. She shifted from foot to foot anxiously, white-knuckling a cream towel against her flat bosom. Prying eyes watched her with cruel interest.

“Hey!” A girl suddenly roared. “Watch where you’re walking!”

Joan stared guiltily down at a few fallen bottles of soap she had accidentally scattered with her feet. The look plastered on her face made it seem like this little mishap was much more than a minor inconvenience to her.

“I-I’m sorry,” She whispered, although her shaking voice could barely be heard over the cacophony around her. Her natural stutter was more prominent because she was scared.

“Can’t you use those creepy eyes of yours?” The owner of the bottles, a girl with tassels of strawberry blonde hair and freckles, spat. “Or are you as blind as you are useless?”

“I’m sorry,” Joan said again, this time even softer, but it went unheard when Maggie suddenly jumped into the conversation eagerly.

“Did she get in trouble?” She asked, eyes glowing with cruel mischief. “I knew she would get in trouble if she came in here! Are you gonna clobber her?”

“I wish,” The girl snorted. She glanced at Joan, as if considering beating the skinny thing into a bloody pulp for simply knocking over her soap, but thought against it. “Don’t do it again, brat. Or I’ll rivet you a new asshole.”

Joan nodded with one more shaky “I’m sorry” before shuffling into the show area. She hunched her shoulders around her neck instantly, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her hands were tightly grasping a set of neatly-folded clothes she had brought in for herself. It was so pitiful. Everyone was anxious in some way, but with Joan it ran deeper, all the way to paralyzing fear.

A stall opened up and Joan slipped inside. She shed her tight bathing suit, dropping it onto the tile floor with a soggy blop. She grasped the faucet handle and cranked it until the shower head groaned and shot out a torrent of hot water.

Slicking her hands with white soap, Joan began to tentatively scrub her body clean of chlorine. She rubbed her palms down over her flat stomach, sensitive chest, and around her narrow neck. Her nails raked over her breasts; the nipples were dark and dull and warm. An uncomfortable shiver went down her spine when she scratched them. Mama said touching the body like this was wrong, and she could see why. It hurt to put too much pressure on them, like her breasts may burst like balloons if she pressed too hard.

Joan shook herself out, scattering droplets through the shower. She moved her hands down, caressing her waist and lower stomach, where an odd, uncomfortable pressure has built up. She prodded the area gently and winced when bolts of pain lanced through her. She shifted, hunching her shoulders in, and gritted her teeth until it passed. 

But it didn’t. Not exactly. The sensation dulled, but she could still feel it churning in her lower belly. Joan frowned, cupping her hands over her abdomen and taking a few deep breaths. Then, slowly, she started cleaning herself again.

Down her stocky legs, over her knobby knees, and in between her flabby thighs. She shuddered, chewed fingernails brushing across her private region, and pulled her hand back quickly.

And saw that her fingers were red.

Joan stared with wide eyes. Red. Blood. On her fingers. Blood.

She extended her other hand and reached down, scooping out another fingerful, just to make sure…

And there it was. Blood. Even more. It was thick and globby and had clotted chunks in it. The smell was sickly sweet. Joan began to tremble.

Her blood. She was bleeding.

Beads of red bubbled out from pale pink vaginal lips like the early blooming of spring flowers. They squeezed free out of the wrinkled, pruned folds, drooling lazily down quivering thighs. Clouds of crimson billowed through the water when the streams hit the tile and ran into the next stall where, unbeknownst to Joan, Maggie was just finishing drying off.

Maggie noticed the river of bloody water with a jolt and reared back into the far corner of her stall. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and stood up on her tippy toes to peer into the neighboring shower compartment, where she saw Joan trembling, gasping, and staring down at her shaking hands, which were stained with blood.

Click, went the pieces in Maggie’s head, and a wicked smile curled on her lips.

Hopping over the reddened Rubicon, Maggie bounded out of the shower and to the locker room, where Katherine, Anne, and her other friends chatted over their prom plans in their bras and underwear. They paused and turned to Maggie when she skidded to a halt in front of them.

“Guys,” Maggie whispered, “Joan’s Aunt Flo is in town.”

The other girl’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” Katherine asked with great interest.

“Yes!” Maggie answered. “She’s, like, freaking out!”

“Oh my god!” Anne shouted in glee.

“Come on!” Maggie urged them.

In a herd of bras and underwear and towels and bobbing breasts, the entire class bustled into the shower area and surrounded the stall where the blood was coming from. There, they found Joan on her knees, gasping and wheezing and panting. Her weird pale eyes were wide and shiny and she was shaking so bad it looked like she was having a seizure. Clouds of blood ripple around her folded legs. Clots are caught in her bush of brown pubic hair and Bessie made a mock throwing up gesture. Joan looked up at all of them in shocked bewilderment.

“Got your period?” Maria called, peering into the stall. They were all standing up on their toes or on stools to peek into the stall.

Joan blinked rapidly, her breath hitching. She lifted her hands slowly, watching them drip blood, and then raised them to the spectators, making a strangled sound of distress. Katherine and Anne exchange looks.

“Uhhhnnnh?” Joan lowed wretchedly. She was like a confused cow calling for help.

She’s fifteen… Katherine was thinking. Surely she knows…

“Know what this is?” Anne asked, waggling a tampon in the air.

“She thinks it’s lipstick!” Bessie giggled. All of their minds flashed back to that story, when Bessie had told them she had walked in on Joan dabbing the tip of a tampon against her lips like she was applying gloss. Bessie said it had been the stupidest, funniest, but also most pitiful thing she had even seen before.

“Plug it up, bitch!” Anne hurled the tampon at Joan and it struck her in the head before falling into the bloody water accumulating throughout the stall. Joan flinched, but didn’t grab it. She just continued to shiver and hyperventilate and make choked, bovine noises. Frustration boiled in Katherine’s veins.

“It’s you period, you stupid cow!” Katherine shouted furiously. “You’re bleeding everywhere! Clean yourself up already!”

They expected Joan to scream, to cry, to gobble helpless pleas to God, but she didn’t. Joan just hunched in on herself and began to shake harder. She didn’t even clasp her hands together like she was praying or anything.

“PER-iod!”

It was impossible to discern who let out the first cry; Katherine thought it may have been Maggie, but it didn’t matter because once was enough.

Everyone began to join in.

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

Joan’s head snapped up again. Her eyes are even wider than they were before, pale irises flashing with terror, and the whites throbbed with intense wetness. Her mouth yawned open, but no noise came out. She just stared dumbly at all of them as she shivered, small breasts bouncing with each tremor. Katherine’s face puckered with annoyance and disgust.

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

Girls started banging their hands on the stall walls and rims loudly, still shouting over the heavy thumping. Peals of laughter shrieked noisily, rebounding off of the locker room and stabbing into ears, and a few more tampons and pads were thrown at Joan.

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

It was becoming a chant, an incantation, a hex of humiliation directed at a naked girl bleeding all over herself in the shower. She just looked so dumb. It was easy to pity her, which Katherine, for one, did, but it was also so easy to make fun of her. And it was fun to do so. She always gave such good reactions. And it was okay, Katherine decided, because everyone was doing it. There was no harm in a little teasing. They weren’t hurting Joan. Although, her face was becoming a strange shade of white…

Joan crumpled over onto her side and several girls made a chorus of “EWW!” as bloody period water splashed around her. It sluiced into her long white-blonde hair, washing the locks a shade of horrible red that made Katherine’s stomach turn in disgust. Joan clamped her hands over her ears, curled into a tight ball, and whimpered.

“Plug it up, heifer!” Maggie cackled, throwing a tampon at Joan’s bare bottom. “Plug it up!”

Joan moaned weakly in response and coiled up even tighter. From her angle, Katherine could see into the gap between her legs and saw with repugnance the moist black abyss that was her bleeding vagina. Boils of blood belched from her folds and oozed freely down her thighs, blooming into great big flowers across the tile.

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

“PER-IOD! PER-IOD! PER-IOD!!!”

By now, the yelling has been heard by Miss Aragon, who dropped her current paperwork on her desk and came striding out of her office to see what the commotion was.

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

Katherine shook off her doubt. Joan always overreacted like this. It was fine. They were just having fun! It was Joan’s own fault for not knowing and being so stupid.

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

“HEY!”

And then, Miss Aragon was there in her blindingly yellow tracksuit with black stripes that made her look like an offending wasp. She shoved her way through the wall of arms slamming against the stall walls, hitting several away with disapproving glares and sharp smacks, and tore open the door.

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

The image of a killer wasp was momentarily replaced with a bumblebee about to be smashed to death by a boot because Miss Aragon genuinely looked startled at the sight of one of her students curled into a fetal position on the floor, completely naked, barely breathing over her panic, and surrounded by more blood than water. She gawked at the spattered mess that were Joan’s legs, blood so dark it looked black, and then the damp tampons and pads floating around her like the unmelted remnants of a snowball fight. Everything clicked into place for her and her dark brown eyes flashed with rage.

“PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod! PER-iod!”

“KNOCK IT OFF!!!” Miss Aragon roared. She spun around and seized Katherine’s wrist in a near bone-crushing grip. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Katherine flinched back slightly in shock. She had never been yelled at so intensely by her gym teacher or even grabbed at like this before. 

“She’s just got her period, that’s all,” Katherine said dismissively.

“Shame on you.” Miss Aragon hissed. She glared at Katherine so fiercely it was a wonder the girl didn’t burst into flames. She then turned that glare onto all her other students, face twisted in hatred and disappointment. The chanting has died off by then, and they could all hear the sniffles and whimpers Joan was emitting on the floor.

“GET OUT!” Miss Aragon bellowed. “EVERYBODY! GET OUT! GET OUT!”

The girls instantly scattered. A few had even already gotten dressed and fled the locker room before names could be written down. Miss Aragon grabbed the cream towel hanging up on one of the hooks, turned off the water, and knelt down next to Joan.

“Joan?” Miss Aragon said, softening her voice of all its barbs and thorns. She draped the towel around Joan carefully. “Joan, come on.”

Joan’s reaction to being touched was instantaneous- her eyes shot open wide and she sucked in a sharp, grating breath that made her entire body heave with the force of the gasp. Then, she began to shake even harder, limbs flailing, whimpers forming words.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She sobbed. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright.” Miss Aragon said, trying to pull Joan up out of the red lake. “Come on. Come on.”

Joan was in too deep in her panic to properly process the words. She spasmed and wailed in an awful, anguished way.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Joan wept. She’s pulled up into a sitting position against Miss Aragon’s chest. Her arms flew out and she began grabbing frantically at anything she could get her hands on. “Help me! HELP ME!!”

“Come on, stand up,” Miss Aragon encouraged softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“N-no, I-I can’t!” Joan mewled. So desperate for comfort, she reached out to Miss Aragon for help, grasping onto her yellow tracksuit with both bloody hands and hanging on like her life depended on it. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Joan, come on.” Miss Aragon tried again. If the period blood getting wiped on her skirt bothered her, she didn't show it. “Stand up. Can you stand up?”

“It hurts!” Joan wailed. Her grip on Miss Aragon faltered and crumpled back into herself. “It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!”

Miss Aragon, who was usually so headstrong and sure of herself, looked dumbfounded. “Honey, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Katherine, who had slowly sidled back over to the scene, stepped up next to Miss Aragon. The coach only momentarily glanced at her.

“I don’t think she knows it’s her period,” Katherine told Miss Aragon softly.

“NO!!” Joan cried instantly. “No! No! No! No!” Her panic was building. Her shaking was getting worse.

“Katherine, leave!” Miss Aragon snarled, glaring at the student at her side.

“But-”

“You aren’t helping!”

Joan’s cries were getting louder and louder and more and more shrill by the second. She was practically heaving, her lanky little body jerking and spasming. She looked so much more thin without any clothes to cover her skeletal frame. Her stomach was sunken in and her ribs were slightly visible through her milky white, doughy skin.

“Joan! Alright, Joan!” Miss Aragon said loudly as the collar of her golden tracksuit was grappled onto again and tugged on desperately. “Joan? JOAN!”

Joan frenzied harder. Miss Aragon pursed her lips, raised a hand, and smacked Joan smartly on her cheek. An overhead light fizzed out and exploded.

Joan dissolved into loud, fearful sobs. Miss Aragon tucked her head underneath her chin, pulling the poor girl closer to her. Joan’s panicking did not seize as she continued to gasp and wheeze helplessly.

“Shh, shh,” Miss Aragon soothed her. She stroked her fingers through Joan’s wet hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay, honey.”

Joan took a few sharp, raspy breaths, then whimpered weakly. She looked up at Aragon, tears pouring from her shiny blue eyes, and asked, “Am I dying?” 

——

Miss Aragon tried to explain the process of menstruation to Joan for almost an hour, but each time she did, Joan would always get the same confused, startled expression on her face. She was utterly terrified of the concept of her insides shedding their skin and making her bleed from her vagina, more so than Aragon was when she had first heard about periods when she was little. Explaining what tampons and pads were and how to use them wasn’t a process that was any easier either, so Aragon ended up putting one into Joan’s underwear for her. The entire time, Joan boggled her with wide, fearful eyes. Her hands were gripping at her belly, seizing the cloth of her sweater tightly each time a cramp ripped through her. Aragon assumed that that had been the stomach pain Joan had told her about when she was in the pool.

After the sudden SexEd lecture, Aragon guided limping Joan down the mercifully empty hallways and to the front office. Joan was left out in the waiting room, ogled by the receptionist, student helpers, and two mischievous boys awaiting their punishment for skipping class while Aragon went into the principal’s office to discuss the incident.

Principal Holbein, a mellow, well-liked man by his staff and students alike, looked supremely uncomfortable the moment Aragon launched into an explanation. He did his best to look mature and refined about this, but he couldn’t help but cringe when the details of all the blood and nudity and sanitary items were described greatly.

“Isn’t she a little, you know…” He said vaguely.

“What?” Aragon stopped her process of pacing around the room and ranting. “Old? For her first?” She didn’t wait for a nod or response, “Yeah. Most girls get theirs when they’re 12. I got mine when I was 10.”

Holbein blinked up at Aragon from behind his desk. “10?” He echoed, trying to sound like he knew that that was strange.

“I was wearing these white pants,” Aragon explained, laughing dryly. “Oh my god, I was mortified! I-” She noticed the look on Holbein’s face and sniffed, squaring back her shoulders. “The point is–” She grit out. “Up until a half hour ago, Joan Seymour thought her first period was Homeroom.”

Holbein snorted out a light laugh. “Homeroom. That’s good.”

“It’s not funny.” Aragon said coldly, and Holbein shut his mouth instantly. “She thought she was bleeding to death.”

Holbein swallowed down his humiliation and nodded briskly. He sifted quickly through one of her drawers, producing a pink dismissal slip after a moment.

“I’m just–” He fumbled with a black pen that left spatters of ink across the paper. “I find it hard to believe that a girl her age wouldn’t know–something.”

Aragon snorted morbidly. “You think her mother would have told her?”

“It is not our place to interfere with people’s beliefs.” Holbein reminded her gently. Aragon scoffed and rolled her eyes, folding her arms firmly over her chest.

“What about the other girls?” Aragon started on another furious tangent. “They cornered her and yelled things at her. What do we do about them?”

“Well, they need to be punished,” Holbein said. “Think you can handle that?”

Aragon looked pleased about that. “Of course,” She said, a small smirk of anticipation for revenge twitching on her lips.

“In the meantime,” Holbein said, “she–the girl–”

“Joan?” Aragon reminded him.

“Yes! Joan. She may go home. I assume this must have been quite–traumatic–for her.” He leaned over and pressed the button on his com system. “Ms. Reed, please send in Joan Sheymour.”

“It’s Joan Seymour.” Aragon hissed.

“Right, yes,” Holbein nodded, and then said as the door opened a crack a few seconds later, “Come in, June.”

Joan slipped inside, dripping wet and miserable-looking. Snarled tangles of wet white-blonde hair drooped around her pale face like soggy snakes. Her eyes were dark and blank, like an ocean during a storm, and tear stains were still evident on her cheeks. She stopped at the door, so Aragon crossed over to her and gently guided her to the desk.

Holbein looked up at her from his large leather office chair, but she didn’t look back at him. She didn’t even raise her head from its angled position directed at the floor. He swallowed thickly, getting strange vibes from this student. He was so used to being barked and snapped and glared at by teenagers that entered his office. This silence and avoidance of eye contact didn’t feel right.

“We feel that it would be best if you went home for the day and took care of yourself,” Holbein said, not sure if Joan was even listening to him. “We’re all very sorry about this, June.”

“It’s Joan,” Joan said quietly. Barbs edged her words, but they were too soft to be pricked by.

“Do you need a ride?” Holbein asked as he scribbled his name on the dismissal slip. “Because we can call a cab if you need one.”

“No, she can walk,” Aragon answered for Joan. “The fresh air will do her good.” She turned to the girl at her side with a frown. “Joan? I’m going to excuse you from Gym for a week. Just take study hall instead.”

Joan just nodded silently. Aragon and Holbein exchanged nervous looks, then Aragon gently lifted Joan’s chin to make her look at her.

“Joan, honey,” The coach said, “I am so sorry I slapped you. I should have handled that situation better.”

Joan just stared up at her with big, sad silver eyes that looked so much like an injured lamb’s.

“You know, getting your period is totally normal.” Aragon tried to smooth her panic out. “Usually it just comes a little bit sooner.” She paused, hesitated, then quietly asked, “Is this your first time?”

Aragon wasn’t sure who looked more uncomfortable: Joan or Holbein. Both seemed supremely uneasy with the question, but Holbein was blinking in a dumbstruck sort of way that only men would do over this subject.

Joan herself was quiet for a long time, but eventually squeaked out, “M-my Mama never t-told me about it...”

“Oh, baby...” Aragon cooed pitifully. She sat down next to Joan and set a hand on her shoulder, feeling her jump and then lean slightly into her touch. “Do you know what’s happening to your body?”

Holbein wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow.

“I...I thought I f-felt something m-move...down there...” Joan said softly.

“As I said,” Holbein spoke up again, clearing his throat, “we’re all very sorry about this, June.”

“It’s Joan!!” Joan cried, and the principal’s desk was suddenly shoved across the room. It clattered loudly against the wall, pens and papers flying off of the surface, and left engravings on the floor from the force used to move it. But, as far as Holbein had seen, nobody had touched it. His hands had been on top writing, Aragon had one hand on Joan’s shoulder comfortingly, and Joan’s arms were limp at her side.

Silence and a strange coldness filled the room. Joan slipped out without a word, leaving Holbein and Aragon to stare at each other with wide eyes.

——

“‘Katherine, shame on you! How could you!’” Anne said with an awful imitation of Miss Aragon’s Welsh accent. Maggie tittered at her side as they walked out of their Calculus class, while Katherine rolled her eyes.

“‘What’s gotten into you?’” Maggie joined in.

“Besides Anna von Cleves,” Anne said, and she was elbowed sharply in the ribs by Katherine. She and Maggie both laugh loudly.

“Shut up!” Katherine barked. She settled herself after a moment. “What’s her deal, anyway? It wasn’t all my fault! It’s not like I was the only one doing it.”

“Ehh,” Anne waved a dismissive hand. “Who cares what she thinks? That little toad was just sitting there squealing like a stuck pig. She was ASKING for it!”

“‘I’m dying! I’m dying!’” Maggie wailed, and they all giggled.

“Yeah,” Katherine nodded. “God, do you guys remember that time in primary school when she got down on her knees in the cafeteria?”

“With that Bible?” Anne said.

“And that dress!” Maggie added. “She’s insane, I swear. Just like her mother.”

“Her mom should have told her.” Katherine said, feeling a flash of pity. She pushed it away- Joan didn’t deserve it.

…Right?

“Well, like mother, like daughter,” Anne said, smirking. “We’re helping her more than that crazy bitch did, anyway.”

Katherine tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Shh, here she comes!”

The mob of students swarming through the hall parted instantly like the Red Sea and Joan could be seen trudging through the passage opened up before her. Her head is lowered, but she’s peeking through her dangling strands of hair to peer around her with a wet, resentful look. Whispers and giggles whisk loudly around her, but she doesn’t acknowledge them. She just walked to her locker, and Katherine could see that “PLUG IT UP” was written in red over the door. Katherine sucked in a sharp breath.

“Anne,” She whispered, “what did you do?”

“Shh,” Anne whispered back. “Just watch.” She and Maggie were locking arms and smirking widely. Katherine turned back to Joan, and realized that the entire hallway had gone still and was now watching in anticipation.

It’s okay, Katherine thought as Joan began to put in her combination. Everyone is doing it. Everyone is watching. It isn’t hurting anyone…

And then Joan opened her locker and an avalanche of pearly white tampons came tumbling out, and that belief in Katherine’s brain fell away with it.

This is not okay.

Guilt slammed into Katherine so fiercely she gasped out loud–or maybe that was from the realization that her older cousin had put all these tampons in Joan’s locker just to humiliate her.

The tampons cascaded out of the compartment like a white waterfall, clattering loudly on the tile floor and accumulating around Joan’s feet in a plastic and cotton pool. Laughter erupted throughout the hall instantly, rebounding off of the walls. There aren’t any teachers coming to check on the scene, either lost in the crowd or they just simply don’t care enough to do anything. It seemed all staff had given up on helping Joan, and some even participated in picking on her. Joan herself looked humiliated and terrified. Not even mad, just…scared. Like she was expecting something worse. It’s the first time Katherine has really noticed that expression on her, and she isn’t sure what to make of that.

“What are those, Joan?” Called a girl in the crowd, giggling.

“Plug it up, baby!” A boy cackled.

Still, Joan did nothing. She just stared as the last of the tampons tumbled out, then closed her eyes and took a deep, shaking breath. When she opened her weird eyes again, she reached inside her locker and pulled out a brown satchel and some binders, then promptly closed the door, turned, and walked down the hall. Anne growled lowly and stuck out her foot, tripping her. Joan teetered forward and sprawled on her chest, scattering all her belongings and causing another uproar of laughter as the bell rang overhead.

“Stupid pig.” Anne spit in Joan’s hair, much to Katherine’s disgust. She had been wanting a better reaction to her prank. “Come on, Kat. You too, Mags.”

She and Maggie whisked away before any teacher could think to do anything useful, as did everyone else, but Katherine stayed behind, frowning down at the girl below her. Guilt smashed into her even harder than the first time, especially when she saw that Joan’s face was contorted with pain.

“Are you okay?” Katherine asked, kneeling down beside Joan. She began to gather her fallen belongings as Joan pushed herself up weakly and offered them to her, causing Joan to flinch away so hard she nearly fell back over. Katherine frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Joan stared at her with untrusting blue eyes. Katherine had never been this close to her before, so she never realized they weren’t just weird, they were beautiful, too. She’s never seen such shade like that before, like the moon had been scooped out of the sky and covered in frost, then placed into her sockets.

“And…I’m sorry about what happened earlier. In the shower.”

Joan blinked at her, and Katherine may as well have been holding a musket in her face, because she looked absolutely terrified. She clearly has never been confronted like this before and didn’t know how to handle it. Her gaze screamed, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

“Umm,” Katherine pulled a packet of napkins out of her binder and offered one to Joan. “Your hair. My cousin–she spit on you.”

Joan’s expression did not change. She’s waiting. Waiting for Katherine to pull the trigger and the joke to erupt in her face. She doesn’t dare move to take the napkin in fear it may be a trick, and Katherine doesn’t blame her. After everything that’s happened to her…

A third tidal wave of guilt came crashing down on Katherine as she thought back to all the things she did to pick on Joan. No wonder the poor girl didn’t trust her. She’s given her no reason to.

“Umm–” Katherine looked around. Nobody was near them, thank god. “Do you–want me to?”

Joan still didn’t reply. Katherine waited a moment, then slowly reached out and wiped away the spit in her hair. Joan tensed up instantly, screwing her eyes shut tightly. When Katherine quickly pulled away, she didn’t look any less nervous.

“There,” Katherine said. “All done.” She wadded the napkin up to throw away when she got the chance, then settled her gaze back on Joan, who is bug-eyed once again. “I’m–I’m sorry. Again. What happened in the shower… You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

No reply.

Katherine sighed. She expected no forgiveness, and she certainly didn’t deserve any, but she had still hoped she may get a sliver of something.

And then Joan was latching onto Katherine’s arm, and a shockwave of desperation shivered up through her tendons. Her fingers were nimbly and thin like a skeleton’s and her touch was deathly cold. Something strange sizzled beneath this girl’s skin.

“You laughed at me,” Joan whispered, and her voice was like dead leaves rustling against concrete. “You’ve always laughed at me.” And the look in her eyes finished her statement in a painful way words could never.

_ So why are you apologizing now? _

Katherine could only stare down at her helplessly.

Joan peeled her hand away and dropped it limply to her side. She looked at Katherine a second longer, her expression neutral, yet full of so much pain, and then grabbed her things, got up, and walked out of the school without another word.

Katherine remained on the floor until an AP came strolling by and asked her what she was doing and why there were tampons all over the floor. She explained to him what happened, and then went to go find a witness statement for Principal Holbein, telling him exactly what her cousin had done.

——

It was May in England and too hot. Cheery sunlight glinted on iridescent quartz trapped in the cement sidewalk. Loose coins scattered across the ground wink up at pedestrians, screaming, “Pick me up! Pick me up! Pick me up!” Neighborhood children are playing in their front yards. A trio of triplets, two boys and a girl, were playing in a sprinkler and spraying each other with the hose. Two more kids a few houses down were driving around in toy cars. One was swinging on a big tire swing. Joan watched that child with particularly prickly envy before trudging onward.

( _wish i had that_ )

Joan’s belly ached fiercely and she shifted her books into one arm so she could massage at her lower stomach tenderly. She could almost feel the muscles clenching and seizing up with every cramp that ripped through her. She tried to remember what Miss Aragon had told her, about something inside of her called a uterus “shedding its lining”, but it still made no sense.

In just a few minutes after leaving the school, the sharp cramps in her stomach had become violent spasms and the dull aching in her back turned into an intense, radiating burn. She was both sick with hunger and too nauseous to eat. Her bladder and bowels ached. She was sweating from the pain of it all, but also shivering and weak from anemia. And, to top it all off was the gross, hot feeling of her uterus being filled to the absolute brim with blood and pressing uncomfortably up against her lower stomach with so much pressure she thought she would burst if the fluids weren’t deposited. The sanitary napkin Miss Aragon had put in her underwear for her was doing its job at soaking up the blood, but it felt so thick and fat and heavy in her undergarments and rubbed her thighs in a way that made her want to peel her skin off, which was a whole other problem in and of itself. 

( _why is this happening to me what did i do_ )

Joan liked to think she’s been a good girl. She always prayed at night and in the morning and whenever she ate, even at school…even if it meant she would be made fun of for it. She always listened to Mama and always ate all her food and always did her chores. So why was she bleeding? Was it because she was showering with other girls? Mama had said she was banned from doing that because it was sinful, but she didn’t want to be left out of anymore girl things, she wanted to try and fit in with her classmates and maybe become one of them if she proved she could bathe like they did, so she might have, maybe, definitely had snuck in some showering items from home and to her gym locker… But again! It was for a good reason!

Another cramp tore through Joan’s belly and she whimpered softly, feeling like she was being punished.

There was a loose rock on the sidewalk and Joan kicked it, watching it tumble across the pavement. She pretended it was Anne Boleyn’s head.

( _stupid bitch with no head ha ha ha all bloody and dead dead dead_ )

A group of kids playing in a yard filled with yellow and red tulips looked up when they saw her coming by. They perked, eyes shining with interest, and one, a little five year old named Peter Brown, hurried to the garage to retrieve his shiny red Lightning McQueen bike.

( _can’t laugh at me anymore because she would be headless and then i would laugh at HER_ )

Joan kicked the rock harder, gritting her teeth. It bounced off of the sidewalk and into the grass, and she searched for it with her foot but couldn’t find it, so she moved on.

( _just wanna bust her head in or break or neck or kill her and Maggie Lee and maybe Katherine Howard but maybe not anymore because she–_ )

“SCARY SEYMOUR! SCARY SEYMOUR! SCARY SEYMOUR!” Peter cried, barreling past Joan. She reared away clumsily and the children in Peter’s yard burst into high pitched giggles.

( _stupid stupid stupid kids mean kids hope they crack their heads open and die_ )

“SCARY SEYMOUR! OL PRAYIN’ JOAN!!” Peter shrieked, and Joan jerked her head at him, eyes flashing, and he suddenly went flying off of his bike. 

Joan stopped and blinked in shock. The other kids stopped laughing, too. Peter was moaning on the ground, bleeding from a scraped knee and bruised pride. His bike was on top of him, dented slightly. He looked up at Joan in fright. Joan sniffed and then walked on.

What was that? She looked down at her hands tightly gripping her books and reached inside of herself for the same sensation that had flickered through her seconds ago, but found nothing. It was like trying to move a paralyzed limb- she couldn’t feel anything but weakness within her.

“Sheesh,” One little voice from the group of kids muttered. “He jus’ making some good name _suggestibles_ , no need to be _crankymonstery_.”

Joan whipped her head around sharply and glowered at the group fiercely. Several squealed in fear and leapt behind bushes to hide, while two froze in place. They sat exactly where Joan wanted and she reached inside of herself for that tingle, that feeling, that power so she could exact her revenge.

( _break their necks or cut their throats that one’s old bitch hates my Mama_ )

Reach, reach, reach- Joan’s muscles began to sting from some kind of exertion and her body suddenly felt a lot lighter, like she was burning hundreds of calories just by staring at these kids and tensing her limbs. Sweat beaded on her brow. The sunlight was starting to make her eyes sore. The children look very uncomfortable.

( _come on burst their brains spill their guts ha ha ha ha that would get back at that wrinkly shit-eater for hating my Mama i’ll show her_ )

But there was nothing. No tingle or feeling or power. Nothing but pathetic weakness.

Joan released a breath and her lungs ached like they hadn’t taken in air in centuries. She shook her head and hurried down the sidewalk, feeling dizzy and dazed. Sweat ran in salty trails down her flushed face and she swiped the streams away.

Her breasts hurt and her head hurts and her tummy hurts and everything hurts by the time she got to a house as old as time itself. She stopped and stared up at it, one foot on the ruined property.

The house was swathed by tendrils of ivy climbing their way towards the roof that was missing several shingles and splotched with patches of emerald green moss. The weathered wood is a chalk color, paint peeling and flaking off, and black peppering along its breast. The windows are tinted a deep brown and covered up by drapes, many of them cracked. The yard was a sea of weeds and the walkway leading up to the house was lined with deceased trees; their ebony branches bore no leaves. The very age of the cottage is shown in its deterioration.

This was no place for any child to be raised.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. This part of the street was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the distant shrieks of happy children playing. Black tires of a passing car trampled over the dead blades scattered on the edge of the poorly-kept street, the crunching of their filaments like bones beneath a hammer. A flurry of brown leaves swept across Joan's feet.

Above, the sky was awash with low churning white clouds. Towering trees with ebony branches reached down far, almost blocking the way. Their naked twigs grabbed like fingers, clawing at Joan's face as she finally trekked up the driveway. The brittle limbs snapped and fell as kindling onto the ground when brushed away. They too cracked beneath footfalls as Joan made her way up to the stoop, across the cracked sidewalk and through reaching snarls of weeds sprouting from the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath her weight, and for a split second, as she always did when mounting it, she feared it might cave in, but the old wood held together firmly despite its age.

A familiar feeling of fear shivered through her. The old car was in the driveway; her Mama was home.

She wanted Mama to hold her.

But she also didn’t want to face Mama.

But at the same time, she had to know if everything Miss Aragon told her was true. Surely Mama would know. Mama knew everything and she wouldn’t lie to her! She wasn’t allowed to.

Joan shook her head and then spent a full minute searching for the spare house key because she forgot hers and didn’t want to disturb Mama by knocking. She found it hidden in the underbrush of overgrown, yellowing foliage encircling the stoop. Huffing, she shoved the key into the keyhole; here were cracks inside the frame and the hinges were green. It looked like it would fall over if the curved door knob was yanked too hard.

The tumblers of a locking mechanism fell away with a grinding crack. When the front door was pulled open, the hinges protested with a deafening creak, sounding as though the rotten wood was splintering even as the heavy door scraped along the floor. 

"Mama," Joan called into the candle-lit, crucifix-covered house, “Mama! I’m home!” 


	2. Eve Was Weak

_“Jesus watches from the wall,_

_But his face is cold as stone_

_And if he loves me,_

_As she tells me,_

_Why do I feel so alone?”_

Mulaney looked up from the notebook, which is studded with doodles of crosses and stars and hearts, and set his gaze on the teenager sitting across from him. Her arms are crossed over her chest again and she’s leaned back in her chair, jaw set thoughtfully. She’s got some sass, but was one of the easiest, most well-mannered people he’s spoken to for questioning before. Plus, she made the examination more fun with her snarky comments, which were even able to make his stoic partner who ran the camera, Madeline, chuckle or smile from time-to-time.

“Any speculation as to who the author is?” 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Joan Seymour.” Katherine Howard said. That sass mentioned before slipped back into her voice, edging her words in a way that made Mulaney huff out an amused breath.

“What do you suppose she’s trying to say?” Mulaney questioned.

“Probably, ‘help me, my mother’s insane.’” Katherine responded.

“Interesting.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows at him, sniffing. She’s poised and waiting.

“Do you consider yourself anti-religious, Katherine?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine snorted a light laugh. “No.” She said. “I just think some people take it too far, that’s all.”

“And you disapprove?”

“Look–” Katherine uncoiled her arms and sat up straight. At Mulaney’s side, Madeline quirked a brow at her change in stance, intrigued. “I’m all for believing whatever it is that you believe, but you say ‘religion’ to me, and I’m thinking da Vinci’s _Last Supper._ Jesus looks sad. The apostles look miserable. I don’t want to go to that party!”

Mulaney blinked at her logic. Katherine looked back at him, then turned her gaze up thoughtfully. She drummed her pointer fingers against the tabletop.

“Shouldn’t religion be more like _Dogs Playing Poker?_ ” She said.

“Dogs playing…”

“Poker.” Katherine finished for Mulaney. “I can’t tell you what any of the apostles are doing in _The Last Supper._ But I can tell you that the little white bulldog is holding an ace under the table.”

Mulaney unsuccessfully tried to smother a smile. Katherine caught it, grinning.

“See?” She said. “That’s fun! I’m engaged! There’s wonderment and awe! That other stuff is just all ritual and punishment. And it’s way too weird and way too serious.” She leaned back again, studying Mulaney and Madeline’s expressions. “What? It is!”

——

Jane Seymour was a woman of many faces, and not in the mentally ill sort of way, although some people assumed she may have been harboring multiple personality disorder within her wretched brain. She had many masks to wear, some cold and stoic, others sinister and wicked, and a few that may have even been sweet and nurturing. When she was at the local laundromat she worked at in town, several customers reported how she would “look at them like she was assessing their souls”, like she was judging whether or not they deserved to go to heaven. She thought most of them were Godless and muttered about it constantly, regardless of if they could hear her or not. She simply did not care.

Many people thought she would never delve into the sexual world of intercourse, what with all her screws loose that warded away most men and her extreme devotion to Christ, so it was quite shocking to hear the screams that erupted from the Seymour bungalow May 13th, 2005. Police were called, but had to wait to get a search warrant, so they, along with several neighbors, sat on the curb for hours, listening to the piercing cries that split the street in two. By the time police finally burst into the house to locate the struggle, they thought they were too late when they reached the master bedroom, which was covered in blood. But then they saw the woman rocking back and forth on the soaked bed, holding a tiny red baby with tufts of whitish hair to her left breast and everything clicked into place.

Several believed this woman was not fit to raise a child for obvious reasons, but police had no right to take a baby away from its mother, so the infant stayed and grew up in the house she was born in. It wasn’t like there was any place she could go, anyway. Jane’s husband was nowhere to be found. 

Henry Tudor is–was– _had been_ a mountain of a man. His arms were like truck tires, round and firm to the touch. He had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a huge body to go along with his already giant frame. Coppery gold hair framed his head and his bright sapphire blue eyes struck a stare that could put someone six feet under. Every single aspect of the man’s body boasted of an indestructible juggernaut.

And yet, he hasn’t been seen in fifteen years.

Rumors bubbled up. They always did. Some speculated he ran away to avoid the burden of taking care of a child or to simply get away from his insane wife. Others, mainly rowdy teenagers itching for drama, said Jane killed him and sacrificed his body to the Lord. Because of that, stories of the Seymour bungalow being haunted were created, although there was no proof of anything of the sort. Because they weren’t true. But Jane Seymour had been out to kill.

Her girl-spawn had barely been a few months old at the time. She laid in her homemade crib, gurgling and laughing, staring with strange blue eyes up at a mobile that was made for her. Jane crept up to her and aimed a knife for her throat.

Henry stopped her.

“You shall name her Johanna,” He had rumbled, easing Jane’s hand back to her side. “Joan for short.”

“Like Joan of Arc.” Jane had observed.

“Yes,” Henry had said.

“Hm.” Jane had peered down at the wriggling little beast. “I suppose that does make it slightly less Godless.”

“Yes,” Henry had said again. “Wait and see.”

And then, he was gone, disappearing into the night and never coming back.

Jane should not have let him stop her.

The child, of course, did not know this.

Joan slipped through the front door, but not without noticing a few neighbors peeking avidly out of their own windows, ears pricked. The whole neighborhood, possibly even the entire city, was always so interested in every little detail of the Seymour family’s lives. At least a few of them actually had the decency to duck back inside when they saw her coming up the sidewalk. One didn’t even notice her, it seemed, because he was still staring when she disappeared inside, while another was only pretending to not snoop while she fussed unnecessarily over her rose garden. Joan shot the flowers a sharp look, willing them to burst out of the ground and bite the lady’s nose off, but the front door closed behind her before she could see if anything happened. From the silence outside, she assumed nothing did.

( _damn stupid woman wish she’d just go blind_ )

The smell of cinnamon was drifting through the entrance hallway. Maroon and orange (never red) candles were lit up throughout the downstairs area; Mama always preferred their warm glow over the harsh fluorescence of the overhead lights. Mama’s favorite radio station, WORT Radio, could be heard playing from the kitchen, along with the sound of singing.

Mama’s singing.

_“Jesus, possess me!_

_Sweet savior, be my shepherd_

_Bless each endeavor_

_Till I finally join you forever”_

A giddy tingling sensation zipped up through Joan’s spine. She always loved the sound of Mama’s singing. Her voice was so silken and honey-slicked, like the gentle croon of an angel. Joan said she should join a gospel, that she would be the best singer in the entire group, but Mama would always wave this off with a dismissive hand and a chuckle.

Joan ventured further into the house, feeling lighter and lighter with each step. She entered the lounge, where a Black Forest cuckoo clock clucked peacefully on the wall. There were many religious pictures and crucifixes in here, but Joan’s favorite was the photo of Jesus leading a herd of baby lambs through a beautiful flowered field. It radiated so much innocence, unlike all the other paintings of punishment and hellfire and sin. It was hung up beside the huge wooden cross with reddened edges over the unused fireplace. Joan did her best to never look at that decoration in particular.

Weaving around the brown felt couch and two moth-eaten velvet throne chairs facing each other, Joan glided into the kitchen. It was an old kitchen indeed, with an oven that squealed like a dying pig when opened and a sputtering gas stove, but everything worked perfectly fine for the two of them.

Two…

_“Fly me free of temptation_

_And the flames of Hell’s devastation_

_Then He will take me_

_And wash me in the river_

_I will make celebration_

_In the joy of final_

_The might of final_

_The fire of final Salvation!”_

There was Mama, singing along to the song playing from an old radio on the counter, her back to Joan. 

She was a moderately sized woman, but had a strong, corded neck and incredibly muscled hands from years of working at the local laundromat. Honey blonde hair framed her face, which was quite beautiful in a weird, overzealous religious way. Reaching brown roots slithered like snakes from her scalp, with only a few white hairs visible. Despite being in her forties, her complexion was more weathered by hardship and discipline than age. Piercing golden brown eyes flickered when she finally noticed her daughter standing there and a smile broke out on her pale pink lips.

“Mama,” Joan said breathily, unable to bite back her giddy grin. 

“Ah, Joan,” Mama said, “there’s my sweet girl.” And then she opened her strong arms out wide and Joan darted into them instantly, nestling into her embrace. Mama smelled like honey and laundry detergent. “You’re home early.”

Joan felt her lower stomach twinge and she leaned a little closer into Mama’s chest. She would keep her mouth shut about the incident at school for now. Mama was in a good mood; no need to go and mess that up.

“School–ended sooner than usual.” Joan said, internally wincing. She hated lying, always fearing that she would be struck dead the moment the fib rolled off her tongue, but she would correct herself and tell the truth soon.

Mama hummed. “I see.” She pulled away and turned back to the counter, where she had been shaping bread dough with her wolf-like hands. “Dinner won’t be ready for awhile.”

“That’s okay,” Joan said. “I can wait.”

Mama hummed again. Joan fidgeted anxiously behind her.

“Is everything alright, my darling?” Mama asked, concern in her smooth voice.

“Yes, Mama,” Joan answered. “Just– umm– may I go shower?”

Mama chuckled. “Of course, dear.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Joan gave her another quick hug, then scurried up the creaky wooden stairs to her room.

Filthy. She suddenly felt so filthy. She had showered barely an hour ago, but grime seemed to be crawling all over her. Would Mama be safe from it? Was it bad that she touched her?

She tried to remember what Miss Aragon had told her. About this being…

_“Normal.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s perfectly normal, Joan. Every girl goes through it.”_

_Joan whimpered. The spattered mess between her legs had been wiped away by Miss Aragon, a humiliation she would never be able to live down, and she was now fully dressed again, but her clothes felt too tight, especially around her groin. It felt like there were eels alive and writhing inside of her. She squirmed on the grey couch she was seated on in Miss Aragon’s office, a place where most students were forbidden to go into._

_“My skin feels weird,” Joan whispered. “I-I’m hot…”_

_Miss Aragon frowned. Joan looked up at her with shiny, wet blue eyes and a glazed expression._

_“It hurts,” She croaked._

_“I know, sweetheart.”_

_“What did I do?”_

_“What?”_

_Joan shifted uncomfortably. Guilt surged through her, along with another painful sensation in her lower stomach. She whimpered again._

_“What did I do?” She asked again. “D-did I sin? Is this my punishment?”  
Miss Aragon looked baffled, and Joan wasn’t sure how she should feel about that. _

_“No, no, Joan,” Miss Aragon said quickly. “You didn’t–you didn’t sin.” She made a face, like those words tasted funny on her tongue, but it disappeared quickly. “You’re a very good girl. All women go through this, like I said. It’s completely normal.”_

_“But–but I’m_ bleeding _!” Joan cried woefully. She could feel drops of blood squeeze slickly out of her vagina and she cringed. “You shouldn’t– it’s not– I-I’m gonna_ bleed to death _!”_

_Miss Aragon is frowning again, and Joan easily recognized it as a frown of pity. That’s the expression most adults wear when they look at her._

_“You aren’t, Joan,” Miss Aragon said patiently. “It’ll stop in a few days.”_

_Joan squirmed again, wanting it to stop now. She looked up at Miss Aragon helplessly._

_“What did you do?” She asked. “To get yours? How did you sin?”_

_Miss Aragon sighed and Joan instinctively shrunk away. Instead of being struck, however, her coach eased an arm around her shaking shoulders and pulled her in close against her side._

_“Oh, Joan…” She murmured, stroking her wet hair. “You poor, poor girl…”_

Miss Aragon had then gone on to explain the process of the strange word called ‘menstruation’, telling her how she would bleed for four to seven days at a time every month for basically the rest of her life. It sounded awful. How could God curse females with such a horrible bodily function?

The sharp ache in her lower stomach returned like a tug on her small intestines. She put her hand between her legs, but drew no blood (this time). A new feeling rose in Joan’s sore chest, a yearning, an ache. She felt suddenly cold, as if the sun could no longer warm her. This was it, then, the change was here.

Would she still be Joan after it was all over? When she shed the last of her “uterus lining”, as Miss Aragon had said, would she still be herself? Or would she be someone new?

Would being someone new be all that bad?

Joan swiped some looser, fresh clothes from her dresser and then scurried her way into the bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the lights, so she lit a few candles instead, letting their warm glow fill the small space.

With muscles that were weak with fatigue, she slowly began to undress herself. First her overalls, then her white and baby blue flannel, her cream colored bra, and finally her underwear. The puffy sanitary napkin–a “pad”–that Miss Aragon had put in for her was spotted with large dark red, almost black stains that looked like gross bodily jelly. It was wilting already, so she carefully removed it and replaced it with one of the many others she had been given, remembering how Miss Aragon had told her to always change them whenever she got the chance or she may get sick.

After throwing away the pad she wadded up with toilet paper, Joan stepped into the bathtub and cranked the faucet handle.

Showering was agony.

Although the hot water had offered her a brief respite from the deep, otherworldly chill that had settled into her body, there was no escaping the pain. Each beating droplet against her limbs felt like a fresh wasp sting stabbing into her muscles and the flesh on her stomach, taut and uncomfortably bloated, pulsed and throbbed with agony every time she moved.

Like before a few minutes ago, like at school, she reached between her legs, and it came back sticky and red.

The smell of the blood was pungent and unnatural. It was nothing like real blood at all. It was more like the rot from her deteriorating insides as her sin caused her to rapidly decay. It made her feel sick, so she stuck her hand under the spray of liquid fire shooting out from the shower head and didn’t pull it back until all the blood was gone.

The smell remained on her hand.

Joan scrubbed vigorously between her legs, which seemed to be permanently stained. Crimson would smear across her pale flesh each time her vagina bled again and she did her best to wipe the trails away with an itchy sponge. By the time she finally gave up, her inner thighs felt chafed and raw.

Joan took to just watching the water and beads of soap run down the slightly rusted drain. Slowly, she sat down, knees bent up to her chest, legs spread slightly. Red drools down the floor of the shower to join the suds down into the pipes.

This reminded her of a time when she was eleven and was violently ill in the shower. She remembered looking up, slumped heavily over the rim of the tub, still in all her clothes, and seeing Mama in the doorway. She had been shaking her head, but had a morbidly amused glint in her eyes. Then, chuckling darkly, she was saying, “You shouldn’t have gotten–”

_“–drunk,” Said Joan, her fists clenched determinedly at her sides and her heart hammering in her throat._

_The figure in the armchair in front of her turned to look at the doorway and squinted up at her for a moment as though trying to figure out who she was. And then it sagged back into the chair with an air of disappointment. Like it had been expecting someone else, someone better._

_Joan stared back through the thick mop of white-blonde hair that had started to hang in her eyes lately because she’d been too lazy to cut it._

_She was eleven and standing in the doorway of the house she’d grown up in, feet squared in her tattered shoes (she hadn’t gone and gotten herself a new pair in awhile, though she was long since overdue) and jaw set grimly._

_“…You’re what?” Said the figure slowly, her weathered, thick-knuckled hands clutching a periwinkle embroidery and a shiny sewing needle._

_“I’m drunk, Mama,” Joan said again, feeling a thrill that was equal parts excitement and terror run through her from head to toe as she said the scandalous words. She watched those dark eyes apprehensively, dimly aware through the buzz of alcohol that she was shivering._

_Later, on nights when she had nothing better to think about (there would be a lot of nights like that), she would dramatize this event in her head. She’d think about what might have happened if she’d been yelled at, or sent to her closet, or even slapped across the face and sent sprawling. It wasn’t that she did this to feel sorry for herself, or to pretend that it had been worse than it actually was._

_The truth was that all of those outcomes were things she wished had happened more than what actually had._

_From the worn-out old armchair, the figure stared at her a moment longer, before simply shaking its head in silent apathy and looking back down at the embroidery._

_“This is why God has left you,” Said Jane Seymour, dismissively._

And then Joan had trudged off, disappointed by the lack of reaction. Usually her Mama would throw an absolute fit over the littlest things she did, but the night she drank alcohol was barren of any dramatics.

An hour later, she would violently heave up all the whiskey she ingested from her system in the shower. It burned more than it did on the way down and made her cry helplessly for her Mama, who knelt by the bathtub and stroked her hair like she was a dog while she threw up all over herself. Mama had cradled her head against her chest when she was finished, mouth and chin still dripping with vomit, and told her what an evil little imp she was in a voice like sweet caramel.

Joan shook her head, scattering droplets across the shower walls and curtain. She looked down and saw a small sea of blood rippling around her feet. Her nose curled in disgust and she backed up further against the back of the tub.

Minutes passed. Joan’s mind was fuzzy and blank for most of the time she sat in the water and her own blood. Her vagina began to hurt at one point and throbbed steadily with her beating heart. 

When it was eventually time to get out, she found that the heat of the water had soaked the energy right out of her, and it took everything in her to get dressed again instead of just curling up naked in a corner of the shower and passing out.

The cuts splattering her figure, those that hadn’t scabbed over yet, were gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. They burned faintly as she stepped back out of the shower’s steamy shelter and into the cold air of the rest of the house.

The light from the candle flames cast her gaunt features in harsher contrast when she peered into the mirror. Her hollow cheeks nearly became empty holes and her sunken eye sockets were black caves. Still, the shiny blue of her eyes was visible even in the cavernous puncture. The fire’s glow reflected off the stygian liquid steel of rolling droplets over her emaciated frame. 

The sight of the deathlike girl would send anyone but Mama screaming into the night.

——

“Good news, Kitty!” 

Anne came out of nowhere, flinging her arms around Katherine and causing her to jump. They staggered, nearly falling right over, but managed to stay upright in the crowd of students leaving the school. Katherine laughed.

“What can it be this time, Annie?” She asked, shifting her backpack onto one shoulder after Anne pulled away.

“It turns out we are going to college together after all!” Anne declared, smiling widely. “I just got the text last period!”

Katherine felt a surge of happiness go through her, but still couldn’t help but tilt her head. 

“Wait– I thought the Royal College of Music turned you down?”

Just saying the school’s name sent flutters of joy and excitement and awe through her. She still couldn’t believe that SHE, Katherine Howard, got accepted into THE BEST music school in England. Maybe even the entire world!! She couldn’t wait until she got to explore the castle-like campus and fulfill her dream of being a real performer, and although she had hoped that her dear cousin and best friend would be a part of that, she didn’t actually think it would have happened.

But here Anne was, shrugging nonchalantly with a radiant look in her dark brown eyes.

“Yeah, well,” She waved a dismissive hand, “Daddy pulled a few strings and now I’m in.” 

Katherine couldn’t help but chuckle knowingly when her Uncle Thomas was brought up. She could only pray for the poor soul at the Royal College’s administration board that must have met the other end of his needle-sharp words.

“We get to be roomies together!” Anne said. “Isn’t that great or what?”

“It’s AMAZING!” Katherine declared, hugging Anne. “I can’t wait!”

The sound of a car broke their embrace and the two of them, along with a few other students in the courtyard, turned to look at the shiny dark blue Ford Mustang honking at the curb. The driver’s side door popped open a second later and a gorgeous young woman, probably twenty or twenty-one, with lush olive skin and curly brown hair came sliding out. She lowered her electric blue Burberry sunglasses and hickory brown eyes swept over the crowd of high school kids in disdainful amusement.

“CATHY!!” Anne cried gleefully. She launched herself at Catherine Parr and the two immediately melted into a heated kiss. Katherine sputtered a laugh.

“Classic Anne,” Maria said, coming up beside Katherine with Maggie and Bessie. “Always can’t wait to jam her tongue down her lady’s throat.” She’s elbowed in the ribs by both Katherine and Bessie for that, making her snicker. “What? It’s true!”

“Come on,” Maggie said, and they all crossed over to the couple. “Alright, children! That’s enough PDA!”

Anne parted from her girlfriend to stick her tongue out at Maggie. Cathy chuckled and turned her gaze to the others.

“Hello, kids,” She said languidly. 

“Hey, Cathy,” Katherine smiled at her. The other three greeted the other woman as well. “How are you?”

“Bitchin’ good,” Cathy rumbled, her lips twitching upwards. The lipstick coating them was a dark red color; Katherine believed it was called “Nibble” if she remembered correctly.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Anne suddenly said. She perched on the hood of the Ford Mustang and spread her hands out in front of her like she was about to tell a grand fairytale. “Can you guys believe the stunt in the shower earlier?”

Like that, Katherine’s good mood dropped away and icy guilt slammed into her once again. It made her feel so stupid, as all her friends burst into giggles around her, enjoying the funny memory while she just felt sickened by them. Why couldn’t she be more like them?

“What?” Cathy looked at all of them in confusion. “What happened?”

“Oh, Joan Seymour happened,” Anne told her. “Sixteen fucking years old and that stupid retard just stood there having her very first period.”

Katherine winced at the use of the slur. Why did it suddenly hurt to hear? She hadn’t cared when Maria said it earlier in the pool. Was she just now realizing that it was wrong to say?

“I think she’s fifteen, actually,” She said.

“Who cares?” Anne said. “Doesn’t change anything! I knew when I was 9!”

“Wait–” Cathy said, and then she exclaimed, “Gross! In the shower?”

“Oh yeah!” Anne nodded her head enthusiastically. “Blood was just dripping down her legs!”

“All the blood ran into my stall!” Maggie joined in excitedly.

“And she _sat in it_!” Bessie added.

“All while squealing like a fucking pig!” Anne chortled. “WEE WEE WEE WEE!!!”

“Anne, enough!!” Katherine shouted over all the laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!”

Anne looked at her and then said, “Hey, you guys! Stop! Stop! Kit is right. It’s not funny.”

All the giggling died away instantly. Katherine breathed out a sigh of relief–

“It’s fucking hilarious!”

–that was quickly replaced with a sharp intake of breath.

Anne slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aww, sweetie!” She nuzzled her cheek with her nose. “There’s a runt in every litter! A nobody. And our nobody,” She chuckled darkly, “is Joan.”

——

The smell of freshly baked bread hit Joan’s nose when she walked down the stairs and her stomach growled so loud it caught Mama’s attention in the kitchen. Her face flashed dark red, her blush bright against the pale backdrop of her white-blonde hair, and Mama chuckled in amusement.

“Someone’s hungry,” Mama said.

“J-just a little…” Joan stammered shyly.

She really, really was, though. She skipped lunch because she had left school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which had just been two pieces of plain toast, but she felt like she was starving. Like it’s been a lot longer since she ate anything. She set her hands on her lower belly and wondered if hunger was another bitter side effect of menstruation.

“Joan?” Mama noticed the way she was holding her stomach. “Is your tummy alright, darling?”

Joan felt an intense flash of fear 

( _she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows_ )

lance through her and she inhaled sharply. She nodded, dropping her hands limply to her side.

“I’m okay, Mama,” She said. “Just hungry.”

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Mama told her. Joan could smell the casserole in the oven and her stomach growled again. “Why don’t you go wash your hands and set the table?”

Joan nodded and hurried to wash her hands off in the kitchen sink before retrieving the plates and utensils from various cabinets. She took them to the dining room, a dimly lit room filled with more crosses than anywhere in the entire house. A huge iron one hung above the table, where Jesus’ petrified face of agony could always leer down at her when she was trying to eat. The only other decoration was a wooden picture frame laying face-down on a small shelf. Joan glanced at it and remembered the last time it had been filled by…

_…a photograph of Mama’s wedding._

_It had been a bright and sunny day, with white clouds floating over the wedding ceremony. In the picture, the newlyweds were standing on the top of the stone stairs leading to the chapel. Above their heads was a tall arch decorated with beautiful white roses, handpicked by the maid of honor. The bride and groom held each other’s hands, the picture of matrimonial bliss._

_This was the first time Joan actually saw what Daddy Henry looked like. Mama didn’t talk about him very much, and when she did, it wasn’t ever in a good way._

_But these two in the picture looked_ so happy _._

_Daddy Henry’s wedding tuxedo had to be one of the largest ever designed. He was herculean, with a behemoth body and golden blonde hair. Dazzling sapphire blue eyes stood out brightly in the photo, so much like Joan’s own. He had a massively wide smile on his bearded face, grasping his bride’s hands in his own huge ones._

_Mama was in a beautiful white gown gown that hugged her every curve, with sterling silver feathers sewn into the sleeves and into the frills of the wedding dress. Her lips were painted ruby red and were curled up into a blissful smile as she leaned into the wall of muscle that was her husband, her hands lost within Daddy Henry’s colossal grip._

_…Were these really her parents?_

_Joan had found the photo hidden behind one of Jesus’s birth when she accidentally broke the frame while playing. She was ten at the time, and itching for mischief, so she hid the photo from Mama, despite all the questions she wanted to ask._

_It had been a complete accident that Mama found out she had it, when she saw it in her room after she forgot to put it away._

_For a long time, Mama didn’t speak after she found the photo. She just gripped it tightly and stared at it with wide, bulging eyes._

_“_ Where _did you find this?”_

_Joan flinched at the edge in her voice. Trembling, she stuttered, “I-I broke a picture frame a little while ago. You didn’t notice, so I picked up the broken glass so that we wouldn’t get hurt. I found it behind the picture of baby Jesus.”_

_Mama took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. Joan swallowed thickly._

_“M-maybe it could help us look for him?” She said timidly._

_Turning abruptly, Mama stormed out the bedroom and downstairs. Joan ram after her, crying, “Wait! Mama!”_

_Mama strode into the lounge and began roughly throwing firewood into the fireplace. Joan skidded to a stop behind her, her eyes wide._

_“Mama!” She shouted. “Stop! We have to find Daddy!”_

_But Mama didn’t stop. She just kept tossing in wood until the fireplace was full, then moved to dousing the logs with an alarming amount of lighter fluid. Joan lunged forward and grabbed her arm as she lit a match and flicked it in. The flames roar to life instantly, illuminating the cold look in Mama’s golden eyes._

_“No.” She hissed, and then threw the photo into the fire._

_“NO!!!” Joan screeched._

_She threw herself at the fireplace, dropping to her knees and shoving her hands into the burning logs. Flames licked at her skin and she howled in pain, but didn’t pull back until she grabbed the smoldering remains of the photograph. It disintegrated in her fingers and she wailed in anguish right before Mama grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her backwards._

_“What are you doing?!” Mama cried. Her eyes are even wider now, and Joan saw that she was scared. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air._

_“That was going to help us find Daddy!” Joan yelled, tears running down her cheeks. Her hands hurt so badly. Pink and scarlet criss crossed together over her charred skin. “We were gonna find him and he was gonna come back!!”_

_“No he wasn’t, Johanna!”_

_“WHY?!”_

_“BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING KEEPING HIM AWAY!!”_

_In an instant, the scalding hot blood in Joan’s veins turned to ice-water. She started to comprehend the implication of Mama’s words, and the tears came out from her eyes faster and faster. She wilted like a daffodil, crossing her burnt hands in front of her chest and grabbing her arms, squeezing them tightly as she bowed her head and doubled over on her knees. The crown of her skull cracked against the hardwood, sprawling her hair like a waterfall of white-gold all over the floor._

_“No… No… No…” She wept again and again._

_“He doesn’t_ want you _, Joan,” Mama said ruefully. “He didn’t even want_ me _.” She took a deep breath, sadness etched in the grooves of her words. “He doesn’t want either of us.”_

_Mama knelt and took Joan into her arms, rocking her slowly. Joan tried to grip onto her, but just let out a pained wail when she moved her hands._

_“Mama!” She cried. “Mama, it hurts! It hurts!”_

_“Oh, my poor baby,” Mama said sadly. “Shh… It’s going to be okay, my darling angel. It’s going to be okay, Joan…”_

“…Joan? Joan?”

Joan jolted, backpedaling into her mother, who looked concerned. Mama gently cupped her cheeks.

“My dear angel,” She murmured, “what’s wrong?”

( _tell her tell her tell her_ )

Joan swallowed thickly. “S-something happened at school today. Something terrible…”

Mama frowned and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Joan’s face. “Terrible things are the Lord’s way of testing us, Joan.” She said wisely.

“I know, Mama, but the other girls–”

“You aren’t like the other girls.” Mama cut her off.

“But I am, Mama! I am!” Joan said. “I never thought so, but–”

“You aren’t, Joan. You aren’t. You’re special.” Mama’s lips twitched slightly. “Special.”

“You aren’t listening to me, Mama…”

“I’ve heard all I wanted to hear, now finish setting the table, please.” Mama said. She glided past Joan and went back into the kitchen to check on the casserole. Joan slowly laid out the plates, then looked over her shoulder.

( _tell her tell her tell her_ )

“Mama, in the showers today…”

Mama whipped around instantly, her eyes suddenly lit up like hot coals. Joan thought she might have seen a flicker of fear somewhere in there, too.

“What have I told you about showering with the other girls?” Mama said.

“I know, but–” Joan floundered.

“What have I told you?” Mama shouted.

“It’s a sin! It’s a sin!” Joan gave in.

“And as such–”

“But Mama–”

“It is–”

“I STARTED TO BLEED!!”

Silence.

Stillness.

The platter Mama had been holding slipped from her fingers and shattered against the wooden floor. White and blue pieces exploded out in every direction. A few chunks cut Mama’s slipper-clad feet and ankles, and blood slowly began to bud out like blooming roses in May, but Mama did not move. Or flinch. Or even blink. She just stared very intently at Joan like she was hoping she would burst into flames if she leered hard enough.

And then, her face did something strange. It twitched, like all her expressions were falling off one by one, so it looked like a mask for a moment. Then, the skin rippled and creased and wrinkled, and her soft features were eroded away by furious and sinister ones. A sick white light ignited behind her golden brown eyes, like twin lightning bugs of insanity inside the sockets. Joan backed up against the dining room table with a whimper.

“Mama, I started to bleed in the showers and the other girls– they laughed at me and called me names and threw things at me!” She said woefully. “I was so scared, Mama! I thought I was dying!”

Mama’s face twitched again, and this time her head jerked a little with it. The veins in her neck bulge out of the flesh and pulsed monstrously. Her eyes suddenly looked a lot less golden brown and a lot more brown- _red_.

“Mama, why are you looking at me like that?” Joan asked softly, quaking.

“The curse of blood,” Mama said quietly. There’s an awful, dry chuckle edging her words. Joan blinked like an oblivious pure white heifer about to be sacrificed to God.

“Mama, you’re scaring me…”

Mama’s entire head twitched this time and then, a split second later, she’s striding across the kitchen with her right hand held high. Joan didn’t have any time to react before she was backhanded across the jaw by pointy, spike-like knuckles. She yelped out in pain and shock, tottering sideways and careening right into one of the dining table chairs. Her body unceremoniously crumpled into it, and she and the chair both crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“You’re a woman now,” Mama said above her. Her eyes are wide and gleaming, but there’s no emotion in them. “Pray to heaven for your wicked soul.”

“Wh-what did I do?” Joan stammered, rolling over onto her back. She could already feel her jaw welling up with a fresh bruise. “M-Miss Aragon said it’s something all girls go through. Even y–”

Mama hit Joan again, and blood splattered out in a bright red line across the floor. Joan whimpered sharply, tears of pain springing to her eyes. Her tongue instinctively flicked out against her newly busted lip and it stung in response to being licked.

“And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Mama said like she was in a trance. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called Sin and the first Sin was the Sin of Intercourse. So the Lord visited Eve with a Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Blood.” She leaned down to Joan and her words were suddenly washed with potent venom, “ _Say it, woman._ ”

“No, Mama–”

Joan was struck a third time. Smears of her blood are left on Mama’s knuckles.

“Say it!” Mama bellowed.

“No!” Joan cried. She turned sharply and scrambled away, but Mama pursued her and delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling on her back.

“And Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden and into the World and Eve found that her belly had grown big with child.” Mama droned on. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on Joan’s stomach, pinning her to the ground. Joan yowled in pain when a cramp seized her at that very moment, deepening her anguish even further. “And there was a second Curse, and this was the Curse of Childbearing, and Eve brought forth Cain in sweat and blood.”

“Mama!” Joan sobbed. The tears were flowing free without resistance, now, and creating small pools on either side of her head. “ _Mama_! Stop it, please! _Listen to me!!_ ”

But Mama did not listen. She just leaned down, applying more pressure to Joan’s poor belly, like she was hoping to make all the blood come out now. Joan threw her head back and screamed in pain.

“And following Cain, Eve gave birth to Abel, having not yet repented of the Sin of Intercourse. And so the Lord visited Eve with a third Curse, and this was the Curse of Murder. Cain rose up and slew Abel with a rock. And still, Eve did not repent, nor all the daughters of Eve, and upon eve did the Crafty Serpent found a kingdom of whoredoms and pestilence.”

“Mama, listen!!” Joan yelled. “Stop! _It wasn’t my fault!_ ”

“And Eve was weak,” Mama said flatly. “Say it.”

“N-o!” Joan squirmed underneath her mother. Her hands, rough and scarred permanently from the burns she got five years ago, flew up and grabbed Mama’s leg. Two of her fingernails jabbed into one of the cuts on Mama’s ankle she got from the glass and Mama jerked away with a hiss.

“You vile demon!!” She screeched.

Joan fled as quickly as she could, but Mama went after her, just like last time. Just like all the other times. 

( _if i had a nickle for every time she made me cry in here…_ )

Her wrists are seized and they both fall to their knees on the floor in the lounge. The impact rattled Joan’s frail body and she could feel more blood drip out onto the sanitary napkin in her underwear.

“Mama, let me go!!” Joan cried frantically. She struggled, but her Mama was much stronger than she was and was able to restrain her. Mama’s body hunched over her, her belly pressed against her rigid spine, practically crushing her frail daughter. “Please! Please, Mama! _I’m sorry!!_ ”

“Say it, woman,” Mama whispered harshly in her ear, her words biting like serpents.

Joan sniffled and, with words that were thick with blood from her busted lip, choked out shamefully, _“And Eve was weak.”_

The grip on her wrists loosened slightly. Mama’s hot breath tickled her ear when she breathed out a dark laugh. A sloppy, halfhearted kiss was pressed to her temple.

“Good girl,” Mama whispered breathily. She leaned back and twisted Joan around so they would be facing each other, but did not release her child from her ironclad grip. 

“Mama, why didn’t you tell me?” Joan asked. Her icy blue eyes are filled with tears and sorrow, so much sorrow. “I was so scared, Mama. I thought I was _dying!_ ”

Mama shook her head and looked up ruefully. She squeezed Joan’s hands together and exclaimed hugely, “O Lord! Help this sinning woman beside me here see the sin of her days and ways!”

“Stop it, Mama–” Joan squirmed uncomfortably.

“Show her that if she had remained sinless the Curse of Blood never would have come on her!” Mama brayed on.

“Mama–” Joan whined. “Mama, please stop! I don’t _understand!_ What did I _do?_ ” She squirmed harder. “Mama, let me go!!”

Mama shook Joan violently, then drew her in close, eyes flashing. 

“Ask for forgiveness of your sin.”

“No, Mama.” Joan said, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t sin, _you_ sinned. You didn’t tell me and they laughed.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Darkness overtook Mama’s features like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Her face twisted with disgust, and she suddenly looked like she hated her child with every inch of her being. She dug her fingernails deep into Joan’s brittle wrists.

“I did not.” She hissed lowly. “I did not– _sin_.” She carved off chunks of Joan’s flesh with her nails. “Go to your closet and pray.”

Joan stiffened, her eyes bulging hugely in her skull. She whimpered and shook her head, shrinking down into herself.

“No, Mama,” She whispered fearfully. She could see her prayer closet from the lounge, the door fitted underneath the staircase. It was cramped and dark and hot in there, just how Mama liked it for her. “D-don’t wanna go…” She couldn’t look away from it.

“Pray.” Mama said. “Ask for forgiveness.”

“Please, Mama,” Joan begged, looking up at her mother desperately. “P-please don’t make me go. I-I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry!”

But Mama’s uncaring look of hatred did not change, and inky black dread poured out through Joan’s organs like a thick, dark oil spill. Her breathing began to hitch and pick up, but Mama didn’t seem to care about her worsening panic attack.

“Please, Mama,” Joan wheedled hoarsely. “I– I’ll bring the Stones again!”

This time, it was Mama’s turn to look scared. But then it morphed into intense enmity and she began to beat Joan senselessly towards the closet.

“You monster!” She howled. “You _spawn of the devil!_ Why must I be so cursed?!”

“The Stones!” Joan yelled as she was kicked and hit and slapped. She rolled to the side, but Mama beat her back down to the floor, slowly getting her closer and closer to the wretched, evil closet. “I’ll bring the Stones, Mama! I’ll bring the Fire!” 

And then a powerful kick drove into her belly and her words pitched into a shriek of agony. 

“MAMA!!” Joan screamed. “MAMA– MAMA, _STOP!!_ IT HURTS!! Y-YOU– **_IT HURTS!!!_** ”

Mama grappled onto Joan’s arms and began dragging her across the floor to the closet. Even with the sharp, unbearable pain in her stomach, Joan fought her, kicking and struggling and screaming bloody murder, but it was futile. Mama shoved Joan into the prayer closet and slammed the door shut, locking it tightly.

“NO!!” Joan shrieked. She threw herself at the door, causing it to rattle heavily on its hinges. “Mama, let me go!!”

“Pray, little girl!” Mama ordered. Madness curled from her lips like poisonous vipers. “Pray!”

“Please, Mama!!” 

But Mama did not let her go. Her footsteps retreated somewhere into the house and Joan sunk to the floor, weeping. Panic started sticking to her lungs like black tar, making it harder and harder to breathe. 

Mama was so angry… What if she never let her out? 

Dread sped up her thoughts, racing through her veins, filling her with desperation. 

No one would even hear her screams, her last dying words, her final prayers…

She began to wheeze, the thick, musty air brushing against her lips. The oppressive stench of her own fear and blood and piss from other times in the closet burned her nose.

Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care? 

Pain lighted in her belly again as her chest contracted with her heavy breaths. 

Would her teachers, so quick to look away from her black eyes and limping figure, even call and ask where she was?

Joan began to scratch on the door, the frame, the hinges, scrambling to escape, her instincts pitching her action into a fury of movement. 

What would they say when her body was finally discovered, a rotting corpse hidden in the darkness of a closet made for holy purposes? Perhaps she would be the talk of the town, even more than usual. The poor Seymour kid, whose Mama went mad after her husband left and God could no longer satisfy her. Who killed her only child, slowly starving her tiny daughter to death one evening while she sewed a new blouse for a customer at the laundromat and listened to her religious music.

Joan’s fingernails scratched harder, grazing the wooden confines of her holy coffin. She could feel the warmth of her blood as the nails began to tear and break, smell the copper of her panic, leaving thin lines of crimson as she clawed frantically.

What if she didn’t starve to death? What if she suffocated? Could that happen? No, she’d read about that before. There was enough air filtering in here, probably. She’d die of dehydration first. Already she could feel her throat constrict, dry and callous, an arid lining of flesh. Spots of light pricked her vision. Tears ran down the side of her bruised face, mingling with the sweat now coating her skin. She felt clammy and cold, yet suddenly too hot, as if in a fever.

“Mama, let me out!” She begged coarsely, the words scratching at her throat.

She could take the hitting or yelling or cursing. Anything but this. 

“Mama…” 

Joan slumped to her side, shuddering. She looked up and gazed around at the horrors that littered the closet. There were so many paintings of Jesus’s death, all in great, graphic detail. When she was little, they used to give her awful nightmares about evil men nailing her to a cross or Jesus’s bloodied body chasing her through a ruined dreamscape, welding a wicked-looking crucifix made of barbed wires and yelling at her to join him on his cadaverous crucible.

They _still_ gave her nightmares, she hated to admit.

The dead eyes of Christ bore down on Joan’s pathetic, shaking frame. Jesus’s face was contorted into the same expression of disgust and pain as Mama’s had been, like even he knew that she was the worst thing to ever grace God’s green earth. She curled into a tight ball on the floor, not wanting to meet his scornful gaze anymore, and began to pray through her haze of tears.

——

Moonlight cast silver streams on Anna’s smooth, glowing skin, making her look like a goddess of the night above Katherine. Her soft touch sent pangs of pleasure crackling through Katherine’s body like lightning bolts of lust, soothing her mind of all its worries with her warmth. Everything felt good and okay and wonderful again when Anna was with her, holding her, talking to her, loving her. She thought that nothing could possibly bring her down when her girlfriend was there by her side.

And yet, she still couldn’t get the image of Joan Seymour’s naked body covered in blood on the floor out of her head.

Katherine sighed heavily and Anna pulled back, blinking.

“Am I really that bad?” She said, then looked at her fingernails, inspecting them closely. “I thought I got them down to the perfect length this time…”

Katherine managed to laugh. “No, it’s not you, you big silly,” She nudged her playfully. “It’s–something else…”

Anna tilted her head. “What is it?” Worry flashed across her expression and Katherine couldn’t help but feel a flutter of love flap in her chest. She loved when her girlfriend got like this, all concerned over her, even over the littlest things. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Katherine said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position with a sigh. “It’s just– I did something…not good today.”

“Oh no,” Anna gasped. “Not good?”

Katherine shoved her. “I’m serious!”

Anna laughed slightly. “I know! I know!” She said. “Come on, tell me about it.”

They got dressed and stepped out of Anna’s red Jeep so Katherine could get some fresh air that would hopefully help her tell the shameful story. It was a warm spring night and they were parked on the side of a small grove that had a trail that led to a hiking trail and some camping grounds. Katherine ducked under a tree that was wrapped in blooming vines of pink-white dog roses, pale ghost petals shivering in the breeze. Anna came up beside her and they both sat on a low-hanging branch that was practically grown for the purpose of sitting and telling your girlfriend about the awful bullying you participated in today.

“Did you…hear about the Joan Seymour incident today?” Katherine eventually choked out hesitantly.

Anna actually thought for a moment, as if a fifteen year old girl getting her first period and thinking she was dying hadn’t been the talk of the entire school.

“Vaguely, yeah,” She finally said. “I don’t get into that kind of drama, though. I tend to stay away from it, you know?”

Katherine did know, and that sent fear ricocheting through her body when she remembered it. Of course Anna didn’t like discourse- she’s told her several times before! How could she be so stupid?

Anna peered at her closely, and she knew it was too late to turn back now.

“What does Joan Seymour and her period have to do with you?” Anna asked her.

Katherine swallowed thickly. Fear pounded heavily at her brain, fear of Anna breaking up with her when she told her and leaving her all alone–but didn’t she deserve that? What she did was horrible. She didn’t deserve a girlfriend after harassing a poor little girl, ESPECIALLY when she herself was eighteen and technically an adult.

“I–” Her words caught in her throat for a moment, but Anna’s patient, loving gaze made them all come tumbling out. “I was in there. With her. In the locker room.” She lowered her head in shame. “I–yelled at her with everyone…”

Anna just looked at her for a long time, moonlight glinting in her caramel brown eyes and making them look like they were glowing. Then, she sucked in an impressed breath and said, “You’re right. Not good.”

Katherine felt a cold slicing of fear slash through her, but then Anna’s grave expression shifted into a thoughtful smile. She ran a hand down an ivy-coiled section of the tree and mused, “I kicked a kid in the ribs one time.”

Katherine blinked at her. 

“I did!” Anna said, then shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “Reed Mulligan. Big white kid who’ll probably grow up to be a robber or something. Anyway, he beat the shit out of me once in Year 7. And then, in Year 8, he picked on the wrong kid and got his ass handed to him. Everyone ran when he dropped to the ground, but first I gave him a good kick in the ribs. Felt terrible about it afterward.” She peered at Katherine closely. “Are you gonna apologize to her?”

Katherine snorted dryly. “Did you apologize to Reed Mulligan?”

“Hell no!” Anna said. “But there’s a big difference, Kat.”

“There is?”

“This isn’t Secondary School anymore.” Anna said. A flurry of snowy pink petals swirled down from the tree and over their shoulders. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you?”

——

The prayer closet lock clicked and the door creaked open after seven long hours. Joan stopped crying for her Mama after the first hour and fell silent for the rest, not even asking to eat or go to the bathroom. Probably because she was asleep, curled up into a little ball on the floor, pillowing her head with her arms. Mama knelt down to her, setting one hand on her shoulder and raking the other through her white-blonde hair. Joan’s eyes shot open instantly, and they seemed to glow in brilliant shades of blue in the candlelight.

“Did you finish your prayers, little girl?” Mama asked.

Joan nodded.

“That’s my good girl,” Mama cooed. She kissed Joan’s cheek, saying nothing about the dark indigo bruise bloomed on her jaw. “It’s time for bed.”

“Yes, Mama,” Joan whispered. Slowly, she uncoiled from her position on the floor, shaking out her numb limbs as she did so. Mama watched her with a sharp eye as she rose to her feet.

“Joan?”

“Yes, Mama?”

Mama took a deep breath and stood up, practically towering over her little daughter.

“I know I sometimes do things that I can’t explain,” She said, “but know that my feelings for you never change. Even–if you have sinned.”

Joan winced, but she shook her head and managed to smile wryly up at her mother. 

“Mama, you don’t have to say that,” She said. “You love me. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness from me. I know you do what you have to.”

“Yes,” Mama said slowly, nodding. “We have no one except each other, Joan.”

Joan shivered. Her heart ached fiercely in her chest, and she so badly wanted to believe that that wasn’t true, that there was someone out there who wanted her, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. Fifteen years, and the only person who didn’t throw her away was her Mama.

“I’m the only one who cares about you.” Mama said. “No one will ever love you except me.” She cupped Joan’s cheeks and looked at her with maddening adoration and love flickering in her eyes. “You will always be a monster to everyone else.”

And Joan nodded, knowing this would always be true, and whispered, “Yes, Mama.”


	3. Mind Over Matter

“So, you and Anne Boleyn…”

Katherine looked up at Mulaney, her right eye twitching. A barrage of emotions blistered through her whenever she thought about her cousin- anger, sadness, mourning, betrayal, happiness, guilt, pain, longing. It was a flurry of madness that she hated having to deal with. And hearing that name come out of this man’s mouth didn’t make her feel any better. It didn’t _sound right_ when the detective said it, like Anne had just been some character in a movie that was killed off too soon for a cheap sad moment. She was a _real person_ , whether Katherine wanted to remember that or not.

“Friends until the end?” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Katherine said.

“And why is that?” Mulaney asked.

“We’re cousins,” Katherine answered. “She was born a little bit before me, and we grew up together, so I guess everybody just assumed we were going to be close forever.” She shrugged. “But we had our differences.”

“Differences about Joan Seymour?” 

“Differences about a lot of things,” Katherine clarified. “I played with Barbie. She played with horses. She’s a back to front. I’m a front to back.”

Mulaney blinked at her and then turned his head to look at Madeline, who was trying very hard not to smile in amusement. Katherine set her shoulders back, smirking. It seemed Mulaney didn’t know how to reply to her statement because he moved on, taking a piece of paper out of a yellow folder on the table.

“Do you know a girl named Donna Kellogg?” He asked.

“Yeah, I know Kellogg,” Katherine replied smoothly. “Every guy in school had a bowl of her cereal.”

Mulaney stared fixedly down at Katherine. At his side, Madeline snorted a laugh, but was quick to cover her mouth and straighten herself back up professionally. Katherine let out a huge sigh, wiping the grin from her face.

“She moved to Germany in Year 12.” She said. “What about her?”

“She got an email from your cousin about four days before the prom,” Mulaney said.

“What’d it say?” Katherine asked with mock enthusiasm.

Mulaney peered down at the paper in his hands and began to read, “‘ _Dear Dirty Donna_ \--”

Katherine raised her eyebrows and exhaled a rueful breath, rolling her eyes skyward. That DEFINITELY was her cousin's writing.

“-- _so I’m out of the prom, but they’re not going to get away with this. I don’t know exactly what we’re going to do, but I guarantee you everyone is going to get a big’_ \-- Expletive-- _‘surprise.’_ ” Mulaney put the paper down and looked back at Katherine’s pale face. “Now, what do you suppose she meant by that?”

And, for once, Katherine made no snarky reply, only able to shrug silently, as her words were too caught in her throat to answer.

\------

Mr. Stephens’s creative writing class was one of those rare cases where everyone wanted to be in it, regardless of whether they could write or not. And for a good reason, too. He was a laid back, supportive, jolly man who always made his lessons fun and engaging. His room was like no other, either, airy and full of light. He rarely ever turned on the overhead lights, opting to instead let the sun come in from blue-and gold-tinted windows he had paid for to be put in himself. 

A jungle of indoor plants snarled the interior, all fit with small golden plaques with names on them (one of the best assignments they had yet was to choose a plant and write a story about it; Katherine, personally, had chosen Hornet, the sassy lesbian honeysuckle). Shined mahogany bookshelves were arranged all around the room with their books sorted precisely in alphabetical order. Putting any borrowed books back into the right place was a rule even the most mischievous of students obeyed. Racks and drawers full of papers and pencils and pens of every color were set up for everyone’s writing pleasure, and there were several places to sit and write when it was time to work. Sometimes the black and pink bungee chair, sometimes the big blue bean bag or the strange egg-shaped cubbyhole you could climb into and nestle in the blankets and pillows that filled it.

The tables were assorted in a very different way, too. There were six in total: Fantasy, Horror, Romance, Sci-Fi, Adventure, and Historical. At the beginning of the year, students got to pick their seats at whatever genre table they were most interested in, letting people meet others with the same interests. Or, if you were like Katherine, you just bustled into the same table with all your friends.

Mr. Stephens was her first class of the day and was always what she needed to get energized for the rest of school. The sun was out again, bleeding its early Monday morning light through the tinted windows and casting beams of gold and blue across the room. All her friends, including her beautiful Anna, were already inside when she got there, along with a few others. Bessie was sharpening several pencils at the expensive electric pencil sharpener by the door, while Maria looked through the Q-T selection of books, and Anne, Maggie, and Anna were sitting at the table they all had claimed at the beginning of the year: Fantasy (although Katherine had debated on going to the Romance table, but several of her friends didn’t like the romance genre, and Anne had proclaimed that the “gang had to stick together,” so she gave up that option).

“Kitty!!” Anne cried gleefully, throwing her arms in the air.

Katherine smiled as she walked over, sitting beside Anna. The two shared a quick kiss.

“Morning, gang,” Katherine said. “What’s the tea?”

“Prom,” Maggie stated. “You guys picked out your dresses yet?”

“A dress? Me?” Anna snorted. “If I ever wore a dress and heels, I'd look like a freaking giraffe or something.”

“Anna, shut up!” Bessie suddenly barked, whipping her head around from the pencil sharpener. “You would look great!”

They all stared at her in silence, watching as her face slowly faded to a light red color, a hugely bright contrast with her bleached white hair. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

“What? Girls eat that shit up!” She said, and then frantically began sharpening her pencils again. The table laughed and nodded knowingly.

“But no,” Anna said. “I’m not wearing a dress. Your girl is going with a suit.”

“Ooooo!” The chorus of intrigued coos whisked around the table.

“How fancy!” Anne said.

“You are a lucky lady!” Maggie said to Katherine.

Katherine grinned brightly and leaned her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder. She sighed dreamily. “I know…”

“I have mine picked out,” Maria said, walking over and sitting down with _The Great Gatsby_ in her hands. “It’s orange.”

“Oooo, nice pick!” Katherine commented. “Orange looks good on you!”

“Why thank you!”

“Okay, okay, question,” Maggie butt in as Bessie sat back down. “Do any of you know about waxing or shaving, you know--” She leaned in, “-- _down there_? Like, for sex preparation?”

“How naughty,” Anne teased, making Maggie stick her tongue out at her.

“Well,” Katherine said expertly, “there are a few things you can do.” At her side, Anna shook her head and laughed. “There’s the rainforest. That’s where you don’t do anything at all. Hitler’s mustache. The landing strip. The Brazil.”

“The Brazil?” Maggie laughed. “What does Brazil have to do with getting--your area waxed? Is it, like, the shape of the country?”

“It’s because things like thongs and Brazil are so small you have to wax EVERYTHING to wear one.” Maria said.

“Ohhh,” Maggie nodded. “Where is Brazil, anyway?”

Laughter and snickers and whispers suddenly bubbled loudly from the hallway, seeping in through the open door. A moment later, Joan entered wearing an oversized, rather ugly shade of pale yellow sweater and a long maroon skirt with small white flowers. She dragged her feet as she walked, not looking up, clutching her binders and folders close to her chest. 

Seeing her sent a sharp pang of guilt lancing through Katherine.

She had desperately tried to forget about Joan Seymour over the weekend, partially succeeding in that task, even when her father confronted her about it. But seeing the pathetic girl again sent all her shame come barreling back into her at full force. She could now see that she and her friends had ruined this class, once a place of serenity and peace, for Joan. Joan seemed...scared to even be attending.

“Well, if it isn’t Prayin’ Joan!” Anne exclaimed. She jumped up and blocked Joan’s path, causing the younger and much scrawnier girl to reel back in fright. “I wonder who’s taking her to prom? Her mother?”

Katherine tried to laugh along with Maggie, Maria, and Bessie, but the sound raked her throat fiercely like talons of fire. She glanced to the side and saw that Anna had her jaw set firmly and a grim look in her eyes.

“Leave her alone, Anne.” Anna said.

Joan tried to dodge around Anne to get to her table, but Anne stepped right back in front of her and she reared away again like she thought she would be burned if they were to make contact.

“Come on, church girl!” Anne spread her arms in a grand gesture, smirking widely. Everyone in the class, even people out in the hallway, were watching, now. “Dance with me! I will make you see God!”

And then, out of the blue, Anne yelped out in fright as she suddenly crumpled to the floor. Katherine blinked in shock, watching the way her cousin had shifted her weight on her feet and slipped on her Heelys’s wheels--but that didn’t seem right. Anne hadn’t been leaning on her heels at all. It looked more like something had swept under her legs and made her fall--but what? There had been nothing there, nothing to trip her. She shuddered, and her skin began to crawl with goosebumps.

“How’s your pussy, princess?” A boy at the Sci-Fi table asked over the laughter that had filled the room.

Anne shot up to her feet instantly, her face inflamed with rage. She glared at the boy, and her stared was filled with enough hate to make him snap his mouth shut immediately.

“What are you laughing at?” She snarled. Her head whipped around to Joan. “The goddamn _BITCH TRIPPED ME!!_ ”

Is that what happened? Did Joan trip or push Anne? Had she finally snapped like that kid from Anna’s story on Friday night? But Joan hadn’t moved her arms or legs at all when Anne fell…

Katherine jerked out of her speculations when she saw that Anne was advancing on Joan with a murderous look in her eyes. Joan flinched away, as if she was expecting to be struck, and then there was suddenly the clattering of a chair to Katherine’s left; Anna was standing in between Anne and Joan.

“What are you doing?” Anne demanded.

“You’re being stupid, Anne.” Anna said calmly. “If you hit her, you’re definitely going to be thrown out of prom. Just sit down.”

Anne growled, but prom seemed to be more important to her than revenge, so she cast one like dark glare at Joan, and then let her anger snuff itself out for now. She returned to her chair like nothing happened. Anna turned to Joan, who was staring up at her with wide eyes as if she were Jesus Christ himself.

“Are you alright?” Anna asked. She reached out to set a hand on Joan’s shoulder, but respectfully pulled it back when Joan flinched away. “Don’t listen to that gremlin. She’s just messing around.” And then she flashed Joan a dazzling smile that made Joan get an expression on her face that said she’s never been smiled at like that before.

“Th-th-thank you…” Joan choked out, and then skittered past her to the Horror table, which she shared all alone (“Of course that crazy bitch would choose horror” was something Maggie had muttered the first day of class when Joan had chosen that genre).

Anna righted her chair and sat back down, looking like a true savior. 

“Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armor.” Anne said bitterly, and Anna grinned at her.

“What can I say?” She said with a shrug. “I can never pass up the chance to be the hero to a poor damsel in distress.”

The bell rang a moment later and everyone who wasn’t already sitting down bustled over to their specific table. First period was the smallest class, with Katherine and her five friends obviously at Fantasy, three kids at Sci-Fi, two girls at Romance, three more at Adventure, no one at Historical, and then Joan all alone at Horror. Writing utensils and notebooks filled to the brim with stories and projects are brought out as Mr. Stephens entered from the hall.

“Good morning, children!” He chimed happily. He was a slightly plump man with olive skin and dark brown hair he always had up in a man bun. The aquamarine flannel shirt he was wearing today made his green eyes pop brightly. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

After the initial opening for class, the lesson quickly curved into the topic of an assignment the students had been given last Friday, probably the only okay thing that happened on that day (aside from Katherine’s time with Anna in her car, of course).

“As you know,” Mr. Stephens said, “last Friday I gave you all the task to write your own poem after selecting a word from my hat.” He held up the bedazzled top hat for reference. “Now we are going to read them! So…” He scanned the class, bypassing the people who usually always read first, like Bessie and Katherine and the boy with glasses in Adventure, for now. A smile broke out on his face. “Joan Seymour!”

Joan’s head whipped up so fast Katherine was surprised her neck didn’t break. She had been listlessly twirling a strand of her strangely natural white-blonde hair and writing in her small notebook with a black pen, which she accidentally sent flying across the room behind her when she was called on.

“Present,” She sputtered. 

“It’s not roll call, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said gently. 

“Idiot,” Maggie muttered, rolling her eyes, and Mr. Stephens shot a glare at her and some of the other giggling students. He was one of few teachers who actually made an effort to stop the constant bullying Joan got in class. 

“Did you write a poem?” Mr. Stephens asked. His voice was so patient and kind, his gaze merciful and lacking any irritation or scorn, despite the fact that Joan was floundering like a useless cow in a cattle chute. He never yelled at Joan or even got the slightest bit annoyed with her, even when she was being completely incompetent and probably deserved a good rapping on the knuckles with a ruler to get her head back on straight.

“Oh-- Y-yes, sir.” Joan nodded.

“Why don’t you come up and read it to us?” 

That seemed to be a death sentence for Joan, who became very rigid and pale. She opened and closed her mouth like a weird-eyed fish out of water, then finally choked out, “D-do I have to?”

Mr. Stephens tilted his head at her, sympathy in his gaze. “No,” He said. “But I would love to hear what you wrote.”

Joan perked up slightly, a new light flickering ever so slightly in her eyes. “You would?” She squeaked.

“Yes, Joan,” Mr. Stephens smiled, and Katherine saw that he was telling the truth. He was genuinely interested in what Joan had written.

Joan thought for a second, then grabbed her notebook, stood up, and said, “Okay.”

Shyly, with her head angled to the floor, Joan shuffled up to the short stage-like platform at the front of the class used for reading out loud. Mr. Stephens motioned for her to sit in the big black leather computer chair he would let students use when presenting, but she shook her head, clearly too tense and nervous to sit down. Mr. Stephens respected her choice and didn’t push her.

“What was the word you selected, Joan?” Mr. Stephens asked.

“Umm-- Stone.” Joan answered. Now that she was up and centered, Katherine noticed violet and indigo bruises along her jawline and a split in her lip that definitely hadn’t been there on Friday.

“And what is the name of your poem?”

Joan fumbled. “E-Evening Prayers.”

“Oh my god.” Anne said loudly. Mr. Stephens shot her a sharp look, and she shut her mouth instantly.

“Go ahead, Joan. Whenever you’re ready.” Mr. Stephens said kindly.

It took a moment and a few deep breaths for Joan to find her voice, but she eventually gathered all her courage and began to read:

_“Jesus watches from the wall,_

_But his face is cold as stone._

_If he loves me,_

_As she tells me,_

_Why do I feel so all alone?”_

A few giggles and snickers and mocking whispers whisked through the class, but Mr. Stephens shut them down quickly. Joan looked at him fearfully, and he gave her an encouraging nod to go on.

_“Baby savior, meek and mild,_

_What do you do with my prayers?_

_If you hear me,_

_Why do I feel that no one cares?”_

Joan lost some of the tension in her shoulders, easing them back down into a more relaxed position. A strange flicker lit up in her eyes, like the first silvery wisps of a fresh flame. 

_“Mama sees inside my soul,_

_But her face is cold as stone._

_If she loves me_

_Why do I feel so all alone?”_

Was that...hate in Joan’s voice? Katherine tilted her head at the girl, suddenly filled with so many questions. Had she always been this interesting?

_“There's a movement in my head_

_Satan? Angels? What can it be?_

_It's growing!_

_It's stirring!_

_It's churning, shifting!_

_Bending!”_

Joan released a shaky breath and raised her glowing grey-blue eyes. 

Silence. 

Mr. Stephens would have said anything, but he still seemed to be too enamored to speak, in awe at his timid student’s raw poem.

Then, Maggie raised one of her hands and spoke without waiting to be called on, “Shouldn’t people like that be home schooled?”

Mr. Stephens blinked at her, his eyebrows furrowing together. “People like what, Maggie?” He asked cautiously, falling right into Maggie’s trap.

“Creepy religious people,” Maggie said blithely.

Joan flinched back as if she had been struck and hunched her shoulders around her neck. Her fingers grip tightly around the edges of her notebook, staring at her poem with a sudden expression of shame and hatred and disgust.

“Yeah, aren’t we, like, not supposed to talk about religion in school unless it’s in history class?” Bessie piped up.

Mr. Stephens glared at all of them. “ _Does anyone have anything to say about the poem?_ ” He said, steering the lesson back on track without giving Maggie or Bessie any attention.

“It was disturbing,” Anne offered. “I think that’s the most little Joey has said in class all year!”

Laughter erupted in the classroom, far too much for Mr. Stephens to wrangle. Joan shrunk back, like she was hoping she could disappear right into the wall, and Katherine thought she could see tears shining in her eyes.

“Got anything else to share with us, sweetheart?” Anne asked in a sickly sweet voice. “Or are you done scaring us?”

“Asshole…”

The laughter stopped abruptly. Joan’s head jerked up sharply. All eyes turned to look at Anna, who was leaning back in her chair and pressing her tongue against the inside of her lip.

“Anna?” Mr. Stephens said. “Did you say something?”

“Yes,” Anne said, her words sliding slowly from her mouth like slithering snakes. “What did you say?”

“I said awesome.” Anna said, sitting up. “I just thought that Joan’s poem was awesome.” She looked at Anne. “Didn’t you, Annie?”

Anne glowers at her, growling lowly. Joan, on the other hand, had the exact opposite reaction. Her eyes were wide and lit up, like that had been the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her, and a bright pink blush dusted her cheeks.

“Yes!” Mr. Stephens nodded his head enthusiastically. “Awesome! That is a great way to describe Joan’s wonderful poem.” He smiled at Anna, then at Joan. “Thank you for reading, Joan. You did very good.”

Joan dipped her head in thanks and hurried back to her table. When she sat back down, she immediately glanced at Anna, a wistful look of adoration in her eyes. Katherine noticed it, and things began to click together in her brain.

“Anna,” Mr. Stephens said, “since you spoke up, would you like to go next?”

Anna shrugged coolly. “Sure.” She stood up, grabbing her red spiral journal, and walked to the platform at the front of the class. She, like Joan, decided not to sit in the computer chair, opting to stand up tall before her peers.

“GO ANNA!!” Her friends cheered from the Fantasy table and she rolled her eyes in a good natured way.

“The word I got was ‘eagle,’” She said, then looked down at the page she was opened up to in her journal. “Dreamer In Disguise. By Anna von Cleves.” She cleared her throat, and then began reading smoothly:

_“An eagle's just another bird_

_Until he can spread his wings.”_

Maggie suddenly leapt onto her chair, flapping her arms and letting out a bird-like screech. The class all giggled, except Joan, who looked startled, and Anna, who looked used to these kinds of antics.

“Guys!” Mr. Stephens barked. “Quiet!”

The class settled. Mr. Stephens looked at Maggie.

“Maggie--that was a pretty good bird, but hush up.” He said.

Maggie bowed and then plopped back into her seat. Mr. Stephens turned to Anna, nodding at her to go on.

_“A river is just a sheet of ice_

_'til winter turns to spring._

_And though the clouds may block the sun_

_Don't mean that it's left the sky._

_Just when you think you've seen it all_

_There's more that meets the eye._

_Like things I dream and things I feel_

_There's more to me than I reveal._

_And 'cause I shine in quiet ways_

_I'm someone you don't recognize._

_I'm a diamond in the rough_

_A dreamer in disguise._

_An eagle's just another bird_

_Until he can spread his wings.”_

Applause filled the classroom. Anna smirked proudly, bowing her head.

“Very good, Anna!” Mr. Stephens said. “Class,” He turned to the others. “Any comments?”

“Beautiful.”

The marveled comment came before anyone else could say anything, spoken before Mr. Stephens had barely even finished his sentence. Joan had a thoughtful look in her shimmering eyes. A small smile was tugged at the corners of her pale lips.

“Beautiful, yes!” Mr. Stephens said. “Excellent, Joan!”

“Yeah, nice one, period girl.” Anne tittered.

Like that, the light in Joan’s eyes is gone. She looked away, suddenly ashamed. Anna seemed to notice this on the platform and glared viciously at Anne.

“Shut up, Anne.” She snarled lowly.

“Go on, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said to his shy student. “Tell us how the poem spoke to you.”

Joan looked back up, fidgeting, and then stuttered out, “I-I just think it said that just because something or someone seems one way, doesn’t mean they have to be that way.”

Mr. Stephens beamed. Anne gave Katherine a “what is wrong with this girl?” sort of look, while Anna looked vaguely rapt. She smiled at Joan, and Joan blushed madly.

“Very good observation, Joan!” Mr. Stephens said.

“Yeah,” Anna agreed. “I think you have the poem more thought out that I do, and I’m the one who wrote it!”

Joan ducked her head with a shy smile. “Thanks,” She whispered, and all the pieces fell into place in Katherine’s head.

Did Joan _like_ Anna?

Katherine spent the rest of first period pondering this- Joan was hopelessly shy, but it could very well be possible. The way she looked at Anna… There was some form of longing in her eyes. Like she wanted Anna to like her--not even in a romantic way, just to--like _her_. As a person.

The bell startled Katherine out of her thoughts and she shook her head. Anna had to run off quickly to get to her next class that was all the way on the other side of the school, and Bessie and Maggie left in a hurry, too. Katherine was about to head out with Maria to the next class they shared together when she noticed Joan still gathering her things.

“I’ll meet you there, okay?” Katherine said to Maria.

Maria shrugged and nodded. “Okay!”

Katherine walked over to Joan, catching the attention of her cousin, who was still in the class and now watching them with interest.

“Hey, Joan,” Katherine said.

Joan jumped and looked at Katherine, then over her shoulder, as if thinking she were talking to someone else. She blinked up at the older girl with big grey-blue eyes, and Katherine could see so much painful anxiety in them.

“Earlier--that was nice.” Katherine said. “That was really nice, what you said about Anna’s poem. I thought it was beautiful, too.”

Joan continued to stare at her, frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Look-- Umm-- About the other day… I don’t know, things just sort of got out of hand and--”

“Haven’t you had enough?!”

This time, it was Katherine’s turn to flinch, and she stepped back as if she had just been shot. She looked down at Joan and was shocked to see pure rage blazing in her eyes, which flickered like lit embers. Her teeth were bared, mouth pulled back in a snarl, and her fists were clenched into shaking fists.

“Do you think you can just go on tricking me forever?!” Joan cried.

“Oh no, Joan, no--” 

Katherine reached for her, but the girl clawed her hand away. She ducked under her arm and ran out of the classroom, leaving Katherine behind in shock.

“My, my,” Anne said, sauntering over with a chuckle. “Little mousey’s got a temper!”

“I--” Katherine’s words hitched for a moment. “I’ve never seen her angry before…”

Anne rolled her eyes and slung an arm around Katherine’s shoulder. She began guiding her out of the classroom.

“Oh, who cares?” She said. “Just forget about it!”

But Katherine couldn’t forget.

Especially when they stepped out of the class and saw Joan, among many others, staring at the graffiti scrawled across the nearby lockers.

**_“JOAN SEYMOUR EATS SHIT”_ **

Joan turned to Katherine with tears in her eyes, bared her teeth like a wounded fox, and then took off running down the hallway crying.

Guilt roared through Katherine and, this time, she knew it would be staying for good.

\------

All the girls in the fourth period gym class got dressed in silence. 

The minute they had walked through the locker room door, conversations died away, giggling dissolved, and horseplay seized. There were no catcalls, no playful wrestling, no pinching or nudging or tickling. They just changed out into their gym clothes without speaking a word, already knowing what was coming.

Some teachers forgot.

Miss Aragon was not one of them.

It was no surprise when the locker room door slammed open with force after the bell rang and Miss Aragon came striding in. Her silver whistle bounced against her chest with every step she took, and a large, bulky black duffel bag was slung over one shoulder. She looked more like a wasp than usual, and not just because her outfit was a bright shade of lemon yellow with bands of black lacing over the fabric. She simply looked like she wanted to prick each and every girl in the locker room with something sharp and pointy until she had them squealing for mercy, just like they had Joan Seymour squealing in the stall just a few yards away. Resentment and disgust twisted her features as she scanned the class with brown eyes so dark they looked black.

None of her students dared to look at her.

“Well, aren’t you all just the bunch to send off to graduation,” Miss Aragon said after five minutes of just watching the teenagers fumble with their gym uniforms. She had seen Bessie try to stick her head through an arm hole three times and Katherine apparently forgot how bra clasps worked, and she decided that it was more pathetic than anything they’ve ever said Joan had done. “When is it? A month?”

Nobody answered. Miss Aragon sneered. 

“And then there’s the prom!” Miss Aragon began again. “Katherine, you’ll be going with Anna von Cleves. Maria, William Willoughby.” She turned to Anne, one eyebrow raised. “What about you, Anne? I imagine you can take your pick. Who’s the lucky guy or girl?”

“Catherine Parr,” Anne said. “You don’t know her, she doesn’t go to this scho--”

“Who?”

Anne ground her teeth when she was interrupted.

“I’m sorry, Anne, I can’t hear you.” 

“ _Catherine Parr._ ”

“Well, isn’t she the lucky one?” Said Miss Aragon. “Are you going to get her a corsage? Or are you just going to tie a bloody tampon around her wrist?”

Anne’s face went red and she growled like a wild animal. Miss Aragon was anything but intimidated, easily towering over Anne and beating her in terms of fierceness and muscle. 

“Hey, I have an idea!” Miss Aragon said. “Why don’t we skip the sport we were going to be doing today and make boutonnieres and corsages for your prom dates instead!”

The girls exchanged confused looks, finding this awfully suspicious.

“Yeah? Sounds fun, right?” Miss Aragon said. “We can make them out of these!”

As fast as lightning, she ripped open the duffel bag and began throwing its contents all over her class. 

Tampons.

Their teacher was throwing _tampons_ at them.

The sanitary items flew like a raging blizzard of white plastic and cotton. Bessie got hit in the eye by one and reeled back into Katherine, who nearly toppled over in shock. Another got caught in Maria’s curly hair and she clawed to get it out. Maggie let out a piercing alarmed screech. Miss Aragon smirked at their hysteria, then threw the bag down at her feet, fuming both in rage and pride.

“I’m leaving.” Anne said, storming past the coach.

Something flashed in Miss Aragon’s eyes. 

Fury. Boiling hot fury.

Miss Aragon hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Joan Seymour at all over the weekend. Every time she closed her eyes she would see that poor child crying out to her for help. Her dreams were tainted by visions of Joan bleeding to death or killing herself because of all the harsh bullying she faced. She kept hearing her scream “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” over and over and over again. She couldn’t keep her wrath tamed any longer, and unleashed the full firestorm on her class.

Miss Aragon reached out, moving as quick as a cracking bullwhip, grabbed Anne by the arm, and slammed her into one of the rows of lockers. The sound of the student’s back smashing against the metal rattled loudly throughout the room, only beat by Anne’s cry of shock. Her eyes went wide in disbelief.

“You can’t hit us!” She yelled.

“I barely touched you.” Miss Aragon said, as if she were talking to a whining younger sibling she had just punched in the face. She pinned Anne against the locker in a position that looked to be very uncomfortable on Anne’s shoulder.

“You’ll get canned for this.” Anne growled, tears of pain springing to her eyes. “See if you don’t, you bitch!”

“I don’t really care, Boleyn.” Miss Aragon said. “If you--or any of you--think I’m wearing my teacher hat right now, you are sadly mistaken.”

She backed up so she could glare at all the other girls, but Anne didn’t dare move from her spot against the locker. Her eyes darted to Katherine in a sort of plight for help, Katherine looked away uneasily. Her gaze landed on the shower area, where this all began, and she jerked it away to look at something else. Anything else.

“I hope you all know what you did on Friday was a really shitty thing.” Miss Aragon said. To her left, Maggie snickered and she glared at her so fiercely it was a wonder Maggie didn’t drop dead. “Do any of you ever stop to think that Joan Seymour has feelings?”

She looked around. Her rage only continued to build when she got no answer.

“Do any of you _ever_ stop to think?” She narrowed her brown-black eyes dangerously. “Katherine? Maria? Bessie? Maggie?”

Another pause. Miss Aragon seemed to be swelling up like a King Cobra.

“Oh,” She said as if she had just read their minds. “You think she’s ugly, don’t you?”

Maggie snorted and made a “well obviously” face. Miss Aragon rounded on her, eyes flashing.

“Well, you’re ugly.”

The stupid, shit-eating grin Maggie had been wearing was wiped clean from her face instantly.

“I saw just how ugly all of you were on Friday.” Miss Aragon said.

Anne suddenly reared up, shaking her head. 

“You can’t talk to us like that!” She snapped. “My dad’s a lawyer! He’ll sue your ass!”

“SHUT UP!” Aragon roared. She got in Anne’s face, smoke practically billowing from her ears and nostrils. “Open your mouth one more time, and I’ll plug _you_ up.” She jabbed a finger into Anne’s nose, cracking her head back against the locker. “Want to find out if I’m telling the truth? There’s plenty of tampons here to see.”

Anne said nothing, but that didn’t stop her from glaring mutely at her coach. Miss Aragon backed away from her, smirking briefly. The rest of her girls were exchanging frantic, nervous looks, wondering if they were about to be murdered or beaten to death or something horrible like that. Personally, Katherine thought they all deserved such a fate.

“Now,” Miss Aragon said, lowering her voice to a slightly calmer tone, “my punishment for this little charade you pulled was a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

An immediate uproar of unhappy gasps and murmurs eddied through the locker room. Katherine found herself sighing with them, but did agree that that would be a good way to get back at all of them.

“That would hit you where it hurts, wouldn’t it? And you would deserve it, too.” Miss Aragon said. “Unfortunately, this administration is staffed entirely by men. I don’t think they have the slightest idea how utterly nasty what you did was.” A sneer tugged on the angered grooves in her face. “So you’ll get a week’s detention.”

Instant relief.

“But it’s MY detention.” Miss Aragon went on. “Fifty minutes. In the field. Every day. And I’m going to run you ragged!” 

They all could already feel their legs burning from exertion and throat aching from dry heaving so intensely. 

“I won’t come,” Anne said, shrugging.

“That’s up to you, Anne.” Miss Aragon said. “That’s up to all of you. But I just want you to know that the punishment for skipping detention is a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

There was that wave of unhappiness again, sweeping powerfully through the locker room, and it was music to Miss Aragon’s ears. She smirked wickedly.

“Get the picture?”

Nobody said anything.

“Good. Now change out. And think about what I said.”

With that, she turned and surged out of the locker room like a triumphant killer wasp. The tension of her presence quickly lifted, but only slightly. The girls were still mumbling and whispering, not daring to raise their voice in fear their coach may come back in and just take their prom tickets now.

Anne must not have gotten the memo.

“She can’t get away with this!” She snarled.

“Anne…” Katherine sighed.

Anne yanked her gym shoes out of her locker and hurled them across the room, as if she were hoping for Miss Aragon to materialize inside and get hit.

“This isn’t over!” She screeched. “It’s not even in the same area code as over!!”

And she was right.

\------

Meanwhile, skipping gym class like she was told, Joan was in the library.

For most of her life, books had been her only friends.

Books accepted you the way you were and shared all their secrets with you.

Books never told you that you were creepy or called you a monster or a freak or a pig or any other mean names. Books never said, _“Joan Seymour eats shit.”_

Joan had hid out in the bathroom after she saw the writing on the walls, rocking back and forth in one of the back stalls and crying to herself until her throat ached and she felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore.

She remembered the bathroom door opening and somebody walking in. She had tried to keep quiet as the girl was reapplying her makeup in the mirror, but her lungs began to burn and she let out a choked sob that seemed to echo throughout the room.

Silence.

“Hello?” Called a voice Joan didn’t know or recognize. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m f-f-fine.” Joan choked out.

“You don’t sound fine.” The girl observed. “Is this your stuff on the ground?”

Right. She had just thrown her belongings on the floor in her panic to get away from prying eyes to cry alone.

“U-umm--” Joan sniffled.

Outside the stall, she heard the shuffling of feet and the rustling of papers. Her binders and folders were slid underneath the door a moment later.

“There.” Said the stranger. “Just so nobody will take it if anyone else comes in.” She paused for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Joan tried to answer, to lie, even if God would strike her down for it, but all that came out of her mouth was a sob. She curled up tighter in the stall, burying her face in her knees. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks like streams of molten lava.

The girl outside made a sympathetic noise. “You poor thing.” She said. “Crying in the bathroom at school. I know that feeling.”

Joan’s crying halted for a moment. She sniffled and looked up slightly.

“Y-you do?” She stammered.

The girl laughed. “Oh yeah.” She sat down on the other side of the stall, her back pressed against the door. “I got dumped in Geometry in Year 11.”

“Oh no…”

“Oh yes,” The girl laughed again. “I wanted to hide in the bathroom forever, but I eventually went back to class. Trust me, crying in here is completely normal. I’ve seen tons of girls do it.”

“Did you talk to them, too?” Joan asked quietly.

The girl thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

“...Then why are you talking to me?”

“I had this feeling.” The girl said. “That you just--needed someone. More than those girls did. You know?”

She didn’t, but she still said, “Uh huh.”

The girl outside shifted slightly. Joan wished she could see her face.

“So...what was it?”

“Huh?”

“What brought you in here to cry?” The girl specified. “If I may ask… You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though.”

She was giving Joan an option, Joan realized dizzily. She wasn’t forcing her to answer.

Sniffling, Joan said, “I-it’s, umm--kinda silly…”

“Nonsense,” Said the girl. “Was it a breakup?”

“Umm-- N-no.” Joan said shyly. “I don’t date…”

“Good for you.” The girl chuckled. “We love a strong, independent woman.”

Joan felt a flurry of butterflies flap wildly in her stomach and she bit her lip to keep from grinning like a giddy idiot. She was always flattered way too easily.

“School problems?” The girl guessed again.

“Kinda, yeah…”

“I feel you, girlfriend,” The girl said. “They expect so much from us, you know? It’s like, do this research project in a week, but I’m only giving you one day to work on it in class so you’ll have to try not to procrastinate when you do the rest on your own and do this math assignment I barely taught you at all, oh and also, find the cure for cancer!”

Joan couldn’t help but giggle. She thought the girl outside the stall may be smiling.

“It sucks, but you’ll get through it,” The girl said. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Joan nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

The girl got up. “No problem.” She said. “I gotta run. My teacher is probably going to tear me a new one for taking so long.” She laughed. “I hope you feel better soon!”

“Thank you,” Joan whispered again. “Bye…”

And then, her savior was gone. Joan hadn’t even known her name. She wondered if the girl would have treated her any differently if she knew who she was…

Joan had managed to make it to third period after finally coming out of the bathroom, and then got to retreat to the one place in the school where she felt at peace.

The library.

Nobody was ever mean to her in the library. They were always too busy to pick on her, and that was one of the reasons why she liked it so much. People didn’t care about her in there, instead hunched over tables with research spread out over the surface, clicking furiously on computers, scribbling in notepads in the windowsill nooks, and reading, reading, reading.

A kind of peace settled over her as she stepped inside, breathing in the crisp smell of books. She felt like she belonged here, with all the oddities of literature, even if she didn’t belong anywhere else. In here there were answers and information and thousands of stories waiting for her to read...right behind Mama’s back. 

Mama didn’t like her reading a lot of things, especially young adult novels. But what Mama didn’t know was that she was already ankle-deep in a franchise about wild cats who were in clans and several other standalone books. When she was at school, the Bible was not Her Holy Book.

Shelves radiated out from every direction like a burst of sun, and more aisles with more books filled the overhead balcony ring. Yes, her school technically had a two-story library. A DOUBLE-DECKER library! You had to take a narrow wooden staircase to get up to the top ledge, which wrapped around the upper perimeter of the room and had a few private rooms to study or read in. The guard rail was laced in white fairy lights, causing the ceiling to glow beautifully.

Another thing Joan loved was the statue at the front, poised below the two entrance ramps and short staircase. It was of a long, serpent-like dragon made of white marble, coiled up on a mound of books with its snout dug in a thick, bulky novel. It looked as though it might glance up at any moment, see Joan, and say, _“Oh my gosh, have you read this one? It’s amazing!”_

Joan gently brushed one of the claws as she passed by. There weren’t many kids in the library, rather in class, but there were a few Year 13’s in there for a free period. None of them even glanced up at Joan.

“Mrs. Johansen?” Joan called meekly as she walked up to the librarian’s desk.

Mrs. Johansen was the blatant stereotype of a librarian- big, wide-rimmed glasses, older, warm amber eyes, curly brown hair. She looked up from the book she was reading to smile at Joan.

“Yes, dear?” She said.

“C-can you show me how to do a search?” Joan asked. She felt painfully awkward asking that, especially to an older woman, who apparently supposed to know nothing about technology, but Mrs. Johansen smiled kindly and nodded.

“Of course,” She said. “Come on.”

It took a good five minutes, but Joan was eventually adept enough in computers to search things up. The first thing she did was look up ‘miracles’ and began to scroll through the search results, hoping to find some answers to the strange sensation she had been feeling in her veins ever since Friday.

**_mir·a·cle_ **

_/ˈmirək(ə)l/_

_noun_

  1. _a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency._



Joan blinked, tilting her head at the definition as if she thought the words may start explaining their meaning to her even further if she stared hard enough.

Surprising? And welcome? She looked down at one of her hands, flexing her fingers. Mama didn’t seem to think her...issue...was either of those things. She clicked down to keep searching.

_**Miracles** _ _of the Renaissance_

_Jesus - Man of_ **_Miracles_ **

_Apparitions and Eucharistic_ **_Miracles_ **

_**Miracles** _ _on the internet!_

_Pray for a_ **_miracle_ **

_Herbal_ **_Miracles_ **

_**Miracles** _ _and Modern Scientific Thoughts_

_**Miracles** _ _: HIDDEN POWERS OF THE MIND_

Joan paused. That last one seemed interesting. She clicked on it and was opened up to a page using big, fancy words she couldn’t really wrap her head around. But there was one in particular that caught her attention-- /telekinesis/. She had no idea what it meant, but something inside of her seemed to latch onto it and tug her interest towards the word until she searched it up in the search bar.

_Psychokinesis (from Greek ψυχή "soul" and κίνησις "movement"), or telekinesis (from τηλε- "far off" and κίνηση "movement"), is an alleged psychic ability allowing a person to influence a physical system without physical interaction._

Joan’s eyes go wide with interest. Isn’t that what she did to that annoying neighborhood boy? And to Anne Boleyn? She moved them with her mind? 

She looked down at her hands again, but didn’t see anything special about them. They just looked like normal hands, just more bony and scarred than usual. Suddenly self conscious, she rubbed the old burn over her knuckles while clicking on a video about telekinesis.

And it was like watching a dream come true. Joan’s eyes widened even further as she watched as a man simply held out his hand and began to move the pages of a book without even touching them. Just like she did with Anne and the biker boy! He must have the same powers as her! Oh how she wished she could reach into the screen and pull this man out and ask him all the questions now running through her mind. Like, how are you doing that? And when did you know you could do it? And are there others like us? And will you teach me how to do that, too?

She was so enthralled with the video that she didn’t even realize someone was creeping up behind her…

“Sorry! Sorry.” The brown haired boy with a camera around his neck said when she flinched around to look at him. “I just-- You can make it full screen, you know? Watch.” 

He reached over Joan and clicked the ‘f’ key and the video filled the entire computer screen. Joan’s eyes glimmered in awe.

“Thank you,” She whispered.

“No problem!” The boy said with a cheeky grin. He quickly hurried off to an empty table, leaving Joan alone.

He...wasn’t mean to her.

How strange...

\------

Katherine quickly realized she had a lot less stamina than she thought she did. She has always been a perfect, well-behaved girl, always slipping out of punishment during the few times she wasn’t, so there wasn’t ever a need to have tough endurance for running because she never thought she would piss off a gym coach of all people.

But here she was, running Suicides in the field after school, fighting the urge to dry heave every few seconds.

The sun seemed to be unnaturally, blisteringly hot that evening, like it, too, was punishing her and her classmates for what they had done on Friday. Katherine doesn’t think she’s ever been so hot before. Her skin felt like it was baking, her hair was tassels of golden fire, and her back was a plateau of roaring flames. Gleaming yellow sunlight made her eyes prickly and sore, and if she squinted through the haze of exhaustion, she swore she thought she could see a big black buzzard circling overhead that seemed to be just waiting for one of them to drop dead.

“Come on, ladies!” Miss Aragon shouted from the side of the field, looking absolutely delightful. “Lift those legs up! Faster! Faster!”

“She--she can’t do this to us,” Anne wheezed as she careened up next to Katherine. She was absolutely dripping with sweat and red in the face, but Katherine couldn’t tell if that was from the sun, the exertion of the Suicides, or the fury from both.

“Just--let it go, Anne. We’re almost done.” Katherine said through her teeth. It took a great effort to speak; she could feel bile curling in the back of her throat like bubbling acid.

“And then every day this week?” Anne spat. “All because of Joan Seymour?”

“ _Anne_.” Katherine hissed. She picked up her pace to get away from her cousin, but when she turned to run back to the starting line, her foot slipped in the slick turf of the football field and she was sent sprawling on her stomach. The impact jarred her heavily and she dry heaved painfully until her lunch finally came rushing out of her mouth. A few girls winced, but mostly everyone kept running--not that she blamed them. Anne, however, darted over to her side, and she wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or not.

“Are you okay?” Anne asked. Her concerned Big Cousin voice was slipping into her words and Katherine couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile at that. This was the side of Anne she liked, not the evil, cruel one who liked to pick on kids three years younger than her.

“Y-yeah--” Katherine answered, spitting out the last of the bile in her mouth. “I’m fine.”

“Howard,” Miss Aragon called, walking over, twirling her whistle on her finger. “Are you alright?”

“Like you care…” Anne muttered. Miss Aragon gave her a dangerous glare, and Katherine set a hand on her knees to not only calm her cousin, but to also boost herself back up.

“Yes ma’am,” Katherine said. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” Miss Aragon rumbled. “I’m glad.” She shot Anne another look for a brief moment. “Get back to it. You’re almost done.”

Katherine nodded and then took off again, shortly followed by Anne, who was muttering something about this being “child abuse”.

Ten minutes of running in the searing heat passed and Miss Aragon’s whistle finally pierced the field. A collective sigh of relief swept through the class as girls skidded to a halt and instantly doubled over or completely collapsed to the floor in moaning, groaning heaps of soreness. A few scrambled for their water bottles and began drinking like it was the end of the world. Miss Aragon walked over to them, amusement painted brightly on her face.

“Don’t drink too fast,” Their coach said to the girls guzzling down water, “or you may throw up.”

“My legs are gonna fall off,” Bessie said in a woebegone voice. She was flopped over on her back, spilling her bleached white hair all across the green grass.

“Now you know how it feels to be Joan Seymour, don’t you?” Miss Aragon said, looking down her nose at the girl.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen _her_ have to run before,” Maggie pointed out grumpily. “Even though she’s the worst at literally everything we do in class…”

Miss Aragon glowered down at Maggie for a moment, then began marching up and down the cluster of girls. They all watched her tensely, waiting for her to exact an even harsher punishment than Suicides.

“Life’s all about making choices, ladies,” Miss Aragon said. “And, last Friday, you made the wrong one. So here’s how it’s going to go.” Her eyes flashed like gleaming pieces of onyx in the sun. “You’re all going to apologize to Joan.”

There was an uproar of annoyed confusion. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes.

“You are all going to apologize to her in front of everyone.” Miss Aragon said. 

“And if we don’t?” Anne challenged.

“Do you really want to find out?” Miss Aragon said scathingly. She turned and strode away from the field to go retrieve Joan Seymour from wherever she was, swathed in gleaming gold. 

The minute she was out of sight, Anne let out a roar of fury.

“That goddamn pig!” She yelled, working herself up to a proper fit. “This is all her fault!!”

“Let it go, Anne.” Katherine said tiredly. She carefully eased herself to the ground, wincing when her throbbing muscles pulled and bent. Relief was short lived, because Anne came charging up to her a second later.

“Why are you taking her side?!” Anne cried.

“This isn’t about taking sides!” Katherine cried back, a new sharpness in her voice. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you? Or to any of us?”

A few of the girls exchanged looks, seemingly only now thinking about that, while others, like Anne, looked unfazed. Katherine saw Anne’s fists clench tightly at her side, but she didn’t back down her own defense. She didn’t think Anne would strike her, but if she did, she liked to think she could take her in a fight.

“My, my,” Anne said with sickly sweet venom in her voice. “Look who’s become the little Joan of Arc around here?” Her demeanor then switched, flaming into seething resentment, and Katherine could now see that her older cousin hated Joan Seymour with every inch of her being--simply for existing. There was no rhyme or reason, she just despised the girl. “Oh yeah, remind me. Who was in there pitching with the rest of us?”

Katherine sucked in a sharp breath, but blew it out in a sigh. “I was.” She admitted.

“Yeah.” Anne sneered. Several of the other girls were packed behind her, backing her up, while a few, like Bessie and Maria, stood or sat in the middle, looking from the swarm of sweaty, angry teens to Katherine and then back to the swarm. 

“But I’m sorry.” Katherine said.

Anne barked a laugh. “Sorry?” She laughed again, then turned to the girls behind her. “Hey, everyone, little Miss Perfect is sorry! She’s so sorry! Oh, Kitty’s sorry!”

“Anne!” Maria hissed, then jerked her head to the side, where the yellow figure of Miss Aragon could be seen walking back over. The group quickly dispersed and Katherine shook her head.

Miss Aragon stopped in front of them. At her side, little Joan looked absolutely horrified. Her eyes are wide and paler than the moon in the sunlight, and she kept fidgeting like she wanted to run. She was trying very hard not to look at any of the girls, but didn’t know where else to stare, so her gaze kept shifting around everywhere in a panic.

“Now, do you all have something to say to Joan?” Miss Aragon said sternly.

“Joan--” Katherine stood up, gritting her teeth through the awful wave of pain that burned through her muscles. She slowly walked up to Joan as to not frighten her, but Joan still backed up into Aragon’s side anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Joan hunched her shoulders in and looked away. 

“Maria.” Miss Aragon said.

Maria hesitated for just a moment, then gave in. “Sorry.”

“Your turn, Maggie.”

Maggie pressed her tongue against the inside of her lip and spat an uncaring, “Sorry.”

“Bessie.”

Bessie squinted up at Joan through the sunlight, then said, “Oh. Sorry.”

“Alright, Anne,” Miss Aragon said. “Let’s hear it.”

“When goddamn pigs fly…” Anne muttered stubbornly. A few giggles broke out around her. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously.

“What was that?” Their coach said. “We’re waiting, Anne. I can’t hear you.”

“Please, it’s okay,” Joan squeaked, gripping onto Miss Aragon’s sleeve. She looked up at her with the saddest, most scared eyes Katherine had ever seen before. Miss Aragon gently touched her head in a form of reassurance, then instantly glared at Anne.

“I said--” Anne growled lowly.

“You don’t have to do this!”

Joan is in front of Anne, now, hands outstretched like she wanted to grab onto her. In the sun, Katherine could see the silvery scars on her hands more clearly, whorled in strange patterns in her skin. The light made her long white-gold hair look like it was charged with glittering electricity or made of jeweled silk. Anne looked down at her, and Joan backed up, clasping her hands together against her chest nervously.

“Joan Seymour?” Anne said softly, stepping towards the girl. She stooped down to her height and spat, “ _Eats shit._ ”

Joan flinched backwards as if she were just sprayed with venom. Miss Aragon instantly got between her and Anne, acting as a protective shield of sorts.

“Good news, ladies!” She announced. “Because of Anne’s comment, you will all be getting another week of detention with doubled time!”

The class simultaneously groaned, now turned against Anne. Anne clenched her fists, smoldering with rage.

“I’m not running another goddamn inch,” She snarled, “because Joan Seymour got her period and was too _stupid_ to know what it was.”

Joan flinched again, and Katherine had the unbearable urge to run over to her and cover her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear this. Her own blood began to boil and she glared at her cousin.

“That’s it.” Miss Aragon said. “You’re suspended.”

That seemed to hit Anne like a punch to the gut. Her eyes bulged hugely out of their sockets.

“What?”

“You’re out of prom and you’re out of my class.” Miss Aragon stated firmly. “ _Now_.”

“No!” Anne shouted.

“NO?” Miss Aragon towered over her, eyes ablaze. She looked ready to rip Anne’s throat out, and Katherine found that she wouldn’t quite mind seeing that happen.

“You can’t decide that!” 

“Watch me.” Miss Aragon said. She turned her gaze to the other students, as if she were challenging them to try and speak out. “The rest of you. Another lap. Come on.”

“You can’t do this to us!” Anne squawked. “Someone could die of dehydration! Bessie, you have a heart condition, don’t you?”

Bessie apparently decided that she didn’t know who Anne was, because she was looking at everything but her.

“If we all stick together, they can’t suspend all of us!” Anne said fervently. There was a spark of craziness in her eyes as she watched her group of friends crumble around her, suddenly not backed up anymore. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Joan’s quiet whimper begged to differ. Miss Aragon looked at Anne in disgust. 

“Come on, guys!” Anne desperately attempted to rally them together. “Haley, Allie? Maria? Heather?” She spun around for somebody, anybody, and then her eyes landed on her cousin. “Katherine!” She strode over to her and clasped their hands together. “You’re with me on this, right?”

“Katherine…” Miss Aragon warned.

Katherine’s heart ached in her chest. Anne was looking at her with so much desperation and need. There were flickers of love in her gaze, love for her little cousin, love that showed that the old Anne was still in there somewhere and ready to play harmless pranks with Katherine again. But when she looked right into her eyes, all she saw was Joan on the floor of the stall, crying and hyperventilating and surrounded by blood.

Her mind was made up.

“Come on, guys,” Katherine pulled out of Anne’s grasp and jogged over to the starting line to get the last bout of Suicides over with. The others followed, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw Anne staring at her with a look of heartbreak and betrayal. 

Heartbreak and betrayal that morphed into something awful and sinister.

“You fucking bitch,” Anne seethed lowly, wheeling around to glare at Joan. The poor girl was shaking like a leaf in the wind, practically cowering behind Miss Aragon. “I’ll get you for this! See if I don’t, you filthy pi-”

Anne’s words were silenced by a fierce slap across her face. She tottered backwards, and all the girls running stopped to gasp and ogle the scene with wide eyes. Miss Aragon was scowling and rubbing her hand.

“You can’t--” Anne sputtered, and then yelped loudly as her collar was grabbed. Miss Aragon shook her roughly, screaming in her face.

“ONE MORE WORD OUT OF YOU AND I’LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU NEVER SHOWED UP TO SCHOOL TODAY!!” Miss Aragon roared. She shook Anne again, then drew her in close. Her words came out barbed and wrapped in shards of glass. “ _Do you understand me?_ ”

Whimpering, Anne nodded. Miss Aragon released her and Katherine watched as her cousin took off, crying. Miss Aragon looked at the rest of them and shook her head.

“You’re all dismissed,” She said. Then, she turned, gently took Joan by the hand, and guided her back inside.

Everyone else dispersed pretty quickly, not caring enough to change clothes. Katherine, however, had to trudge to the locker room because she stupidly put all her stuff in there. When she entered, she could hear voices coming from Miss Aragon’s office.

“Joan, sweetheart? I’m so sorry, if I had known it would have gone like that--”

“Oh, Miss Aragon, you just have to let Anne go to the prom! You got to!”

Those were Miss Aragon and Joan. Now Katherine had to stay and eavesdrop on their conversation. She shut the door silently so as to not alert them and crept closer to hear better.

“Joan--”

“Prom is very important to her…”

“And what’s right is important to me.” Miss Aragon said firmly.

“But prom is everything to those girls!” Joan warbled. “It’s the one night they get to dress up and be beautiful! It’s like a dream!”

“But what about you?”

Pause.

Hesitation.

“No--” Joan said, and Katherine thought she may have been shaking her head. “Oh, no, I’m not going. I’m--I’m /different/.” 

Was that disgust in her voice? Why?

“Not that different.” 

“Yes, I am.” 

That was sadness and grief. 

Joan added a moment later, solemnly and slightly envious, “They all got someone…”

“And so will you one day, things change.” Miss Aragon told her.

There’s a moment of silence. Katherine could bet a million dollars that Joan was looking at Miss Aragon in disbelief right now.

“I tell you what. Let’s pretend--”

“Miss Aragon…”

“Just for a minute! Pretend that the right someone comes up to you and says: ‘Joan, will you be my date to the prom?’ What would you say?”

A beat of silence.

“No.”

“J--”

Miss Aragon sighed heavily. Katherine struggled not to laugh.

“Joan, why not?”

“I’m not--” Joan fumbled. “I’m not--pretty.”

Miss Aragon gave a tiny gasp.

“Oh, sweetheart… Sure you are! Look--” Katherine can faintly hear her root around for something, most likely a pocket mirror. “See there? That’s a pretty girl.”

Katherine’s mind was spinning. She kept thinking “poor Joan” over and over and over again. The girl’s self esteem was so low. It was normal for people to make comments about their body, but there was a sort of deep hatred in Joan’s voice when she said that she wasn’t pretty that made Katherine think all of this ran a lot deeper than she thought.

Would there ever be a way to make things right?


	4. Levitated Mass

“You look at a girl like Joan Seymour and you don’t know if you want to slap her or feel sorry for her. She’s just sort of pathetic.”

Mulaney nodded slowly, as if he could actually understand this girl’s logic. She looked up at him, tearing pieces off of the doughnut she was given when she came in for questioning- a peace offering of sorts. Her eyes were dark brown, which were a strange mix with her bleached white hair.

“I’m sad she died, but I’m sad everyone died, you know?” Bessie Blount went on.

“How well did you know Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard?” Mulaney asked.

Bessie thought for a moment, popping another piece of the doughnut into her mouth.

“I liked to think we were pretty close,” She said. “We had a few classes together and they talked to me and stuff, but they were Ultras.”

Mulaney furrowed his eyebrows. “Ultras?” He echoed.

“Ultra Popular, Ultra Pretty, Ultra etc,” Bessie clarified as if Mulaney, a thirty-seven year old man, should already know that. He blew out a breath; he would never understand the way children talked these days.

“And you weren’t?” He said.

Bessie snorted. “I was senior class president.” She said. “Apparently it wasn’t cool to be passionate about school spirit.”

“I see…”

“It’s like this,” Bessie said, and Madeline’s eyebrows flicked upwards slightly in interest. “You got your jocks and your Ultras at the top of the food chain,” She raised her hand up high for reference, “then your student body leaders, such as myself, and then the brains, and then the geeks, which is a subtle distinction ‘cause brains tend to be more aesthetically pleasing and less likely to join the marching band or choir.”

Mulaney nodded slowly again, still not quite understanding. 

“And where was Joan Seymour in this...food chain?”

“As far down as you could go,” Bessie said. “She was a Plath.”

Plath. Was that a reference to the very intelligent poet Sylvia Plath, who had a nervous breakdown during a 1953 internship on Mademoiselle magazine? Which she then wrote about in a thinly disguised autobiography called _The Bell Jar_? Published in the US a month before her suicide at age 30? 

How...strange…

“I mean, everyone made fun of her, especially the Ultras.” Bessie went on.

Mulaney exchanged glances with his partner, who seemed quite amused by their newest victim of the prom. 

“Did Anne and Katherine ever give any indication that they were planning on hurting Joan?”

Bessie blinked in shock, suddenly looking like a bleached deer about to be run over by a truck. She tilted her head at him in solemn confusion.

“You think what happened…” Her words faltered for a moment. She looked like she was trying to put together a puzzle with pieces that didn’t exactly fit right. “You think that was all because someone wanted to hurt Joan?”

\------

First period was a clatter of noise as kids bustled into the classroom and sharpened pencils and hopped up onto the tables to talk to their friends from a higher ground. Katherine was about to enter, surrounded by the even louder sound of high school in the poster-covered halls, when someone had hopped into her path.

“Can I ask you a few questions for the school paper? Can I? Can I?”

She looked down--way down--to see a weedy little Year 10 boy--he has to be at least fourteen if he’s in high school, but he only looked about eleven--with a notebook and a painfully sincere expression on his freckled face. 

“I’m doing a survey on the quality of food at prom! Can I ask you a few questions? Have you been to prom? Like, last year? I haven’t been so I was just asking some older students.”

This kid’s got balls, that’s for sure. But shouldn’t Katherine just push him to the side? Isn’t that what she’s supposed to do to frosh?

But then her mind flickered back to Joan Seymour and she couldn’t bring herself to ignore this little guy. She wanted to turn over a new leaf, be nicer, and this would definitely be some sort of start to that.

“Sure!” She said, giving him her full attention.

The boy’s face lit up with equal parts happy and surprised. Apparently the poor kid wasn’t used to people treating him with so much courtesy. Katherine was happy to have gone against his expectations in this case. It made her feel like she wasn’t that bad of a person after all.

He reeled off questions with cheerful enthusiasm, and Katherine did her best to answer. As soon as he’s done, he thanked her profusely and then scampered off down the hallway. Katherine shook her head in amusement and then stepped into class.

“Hello, children!” She called to the Fantasy table, where all her friends sat.

Except Anne, of course.

Flickers of anger flamed through her when she thought about her cousin and her outburst at detention yesterday. The group chat they were both in with their gaggle of friends had been completely silent that evening, as well as the private messages between just the two of them. Not that she wanted to hear anything from Anne anyway. Every time she simply thought about her, all of her guilt and irritation came surging back like a raging black tide, no matter how hard she tried to beat it down.

“Morning, Kat!”

“Good morning, Kitty!”

“Hey, Kat!”

“Morning, lovely.”

Katherine sat down next to Anna as usual, and immediately leaned into her side. Anna chuckled and began to run her fingers through her hair.

“You look tired,” Maria observed.

“I am,” Katherine sighed. “How are you not? I’m STILL sore from detention yesterday.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Maggie groaned, dramatically flopping over the surface of the table. “I could barely LAY DOWN last night, my legs hurt THAT BAD!”

“And we have to go back for the rest of the week…” Bessie said woefully.

“Better than not getting to go to prom,” Maria said. “I still can’t believe that happened.”

“It was Anne’s own fault,” Katherine said.

“Woah, wait- really?” Anna blinked. “Anne isn’t going to prom?”

“Nope.” Maggie said glumly. “Miss Aragon snapped yesterday. She HIT Anne!”

“Woah.” Anna said. “But I can see that, though.”

“Yeah, well,” Maggie sighed. She perked up a moment later, however. “Oh, hey, Joan!”

Katherine turned her head to see Joan, clad in a strange clash of flannel and overalls, shuffling inside with her head down. She had at least ten books in her arms, which she held protectively against her chest like an ice dragon guarding its hoard of gold or secret knowledge. Her hair was done in a messy braid, a style Katherine doesn’t think she’s ever seen her with.

“Wanna sit in Anne’s seat today?” Maggie asked her. “I just don’t think she’s going to be using it since you got her kicked out of school.”

Joan didn’t stop, only hunching her shoulders in around her neck and picking up the pace slightly. Maggie sneered.

“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind!” She rolled her eyes and then sprung into a new conversation with Bessie and Maria.

Katherine watched as Joan sat down at her empty table and instantly pulled out a notebook she didn’t use for class. She opened it to a fresh page and began writing fervently, glancing up every once and awhile to look at one of the books she had opened up in front of her. There was a glint in her eyes that Katherine has never really seen before… Determination? Happiness? Hope?

“I’ll be right back,” Katherine murmured to Anna. She slid out from under her girlfriend’s arm and walked over to Joan’s table. Maggie, Maria, and Bessie were too deep in conversation to notice her, luckily, but Anna watched her curiously as she tapped the top of the table to let Joan know she was there. It was enough to make the poor kid jump and look up instantly, slamming her journal shut.

“Hey, Joan,” Katherine greeted warmly. “How are you?”

Joan blinked at her for several seconds before whispering, “Okay…”

But she didn’t look ‘okay’ up close. Her skin was a worrying shade of milky yellow and her eyes were dull, like a dead fish’s. She kept breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, and it might have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact that Joan didn’t normally breathe like that. Beads of sweat soaked the crown of her head, despite it being rather cool inside the classroom.

Katherine waited for her to ask how she was, but she didn’t, so she started again, “Nice weather, huh?” She internally cringed at how terribly awkward that was, but she didn’t know what else to say.

Joan peered out the tinted glass windows, squinting like she couldn’t see, and then said, “It’s cloudy.”

“Yeah,” Katherine nodded. “Thank god. That’ll make detention after school a lot less painful.”

Joan shrunk in on herself, guilt twisted on her expression. “Sorry,” She mumbled. “A-about that…”

Katherine frowned. “No need to apologize, Joan. We all deserve it for what we did.”

Joan shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t say anything else. Katherine looked down at one of the books stacked on her desk, which had a brain surrounded by a colorful galaxy on its cover. She tentatively picked it up.

“ _Telekinesis: Unlocking The Mind,_ ” She read aloud. A moment later, the book is ripped from her hands, and in the briefest moment where her skin brushed against Joan’s, she felt a sudden, weird shifting in the world, like something was tugging apart her muscles from inside her. She froze, staring into the girl’s innocent grey-blue eyes.

_What was that?_

Joan hunched in her shoulders, ducked her head like a harmless turtle, and looked away, hugging the book protectively against her chest. Katherine realized she was starting to tuck further into her shell and tried to stop her before she closed herself off entirely, sputtering out, “No, no, no, no-- Wait, hang on.” 

She bent over the desk, kneeling down to hopefully catch Joan’s lowered gaze. The girl looked frightened, but there were hints of anger and annoyance in her eyes.

“Is that, like--” Katherine fumbled. “Hypnosis?”

Joan doesn’t say anything or lift her head.

“Because me and my friends tried that!” Katherine went on quickly. “I swear, we actually hypnotized my neighbor’s dog!” She laughed. Joan does not. She stopped laughing and cleared her throat. “Anyway--”

The bell rang, and Katherine swore she saw relief flash on Joan’s face. She sighed and stood up.

“Bye, Joan,” Katherine said before returning to her table.

“Good morning, class,” A froggy voice said. An older woman with big, round glasses and coils of hearing aids around her ears entered the room- a substitute. So that’s why a name was written on the whiteboard. “I am Mrs. Henderson. I will be substituting for Mr. Stephens today. Now, let’s get to roll call…”

Out of the corner of her eye, Katherine saw Joan duck her head and press the heels of her palms to her eyes, like she was trying to keep something trapped inside her skull. She was inhaling and exhaling through just her mouth now, and Katherine wondered if she was about to vomit. She certainly looked ill.

“Joan Seymour,” Mrs. Henderson intoned.

A student at the Sci-Fi table called out, “She’s not here.”

Katherine heard Joan sigh softly and look up. “Yes I am.”

The substitute didn’t raise her head from the roster, so Joan swallowed and spoke again, “Mrs. Henderson. I’m here.”

Mrs. Henderson peered over her glasses, frowning. “Why did you say she wasn’t?” She asked the boy who had said something.

He shrugged. “She never speaks, so it wouldn’t make a difference if she were here or not.”

Mrs. Henderson glanced at Joan, then sniffed and moved on as kids giggled. Joan lowered her head and dug her nose back into her journal. Katherine watched her curiously, wondering what was going on with this girl.

\--

It feels as if someone was taking a knife and stabbing it into her ears over and over and over again until brain matter was spilling out.

Exhaustion tugs at her body as she writes

( _have to write have to finish have to find answers answers answers what is wrong with me_ )

in her journal. Her vision blurs momentarily, and even when it clears, there’s no difference. Everything still looks the same--and that's one of the causes of the thumping in her chest. That, among many different things.

It’s just--

Everything _hurt_. Her head, her stomach, her arms and legs and neck. Mama doesn’t understand why she looked so poorly that morning. And she especially didn’t understand why she was so thirsty when she practically begged for a cup she couldn’t drink and filled it up with water that she guzzled down until she felt she was about to vomit.

“She looks...sick.” Muttered Maria from the Fantasy table. She’s talking about her, she knows she is.

Was she sick? She felt sick, but at the same time, something told her this wasn’t some ordinary stomach bug.

( _telekinesis telekinesis telekinesis why do i feel this way_ )

She heard Maggie ask her friends, only half-joking, if she was “some sort of anorexic or something”, and she pretended it didn’t sting.

( _stupid stupid stupid wish i could rip your stupid head off_ )

_Flex_

Something within her twitched.

A tug on her muscles. A pull on her brain. A heave in her tendons.

Her senses start to come together a little more--or at least she thinks they are. She’s starting to shake, though, and she doesn’t know why but it’s awful, so awful. Her teeth clatter and her eyes feel hot and her head is _going to explode._

( _help me help me help me_ )

_Flex_

Spinning spinning spinning, everything was spinning out of control.

( _it burns oh god it burns_ )

She should be used to it by now, she should be immune to this pain. But it hurts, it hurts, it hurts so badly. 

It’s inside her, every muscle, every bone, every fiber of her being, this pain so horrible, constant, just another part of her. But today it’s worse. It’s so much worse. Maybe it’s because God had a bad day and has decided to punish, maybe it’s because she accidentally fumbled with her nighttime prayers yesterday. Whatever it is, she hates it.

_Flex_

It shouldn’t be like this. It burns so much hotter, it claws at her without mercy. It’s not right. This isn’t how things are supposed to be. She’s not supposed to feel this way, like everything around her is fire and everything inside her burns, like there’s no safety, no happiness, no love, only misery and agony. 

It’s school, just school, and suffering is good for the soul. But that’s a lie Mama tells her, it’s a lie she tells herself, because that’s not how you’re supposed to live. That’s not how you’re supposed to gain strength. No matter how many times Mama says it is, there’s others who are strong and don’t go through this. She’s seen it, she’s felt it. So why? Why her? Why does it have to be this way?

( _HELP ME_ )

It burns yet she also feels so cold, so left alone, so bruised and battered, despite being surrounded by people, but they don’t care. No one cares. While the fires around her burn, while her insides burn just as badly as the outside, nobody turns to help her. 

( _please_ )

It’s like her own fire dies a little each time. Her heart freezes as her body burns, her spirit dying as her nerves come alive with pain, so much pain.

She can’t take it anymore, she can’t handle all this pain, all this suffering, all this neglect and abuse and hate. She wants to _do something_ about it. For once she wants it all to just--end.

_Flex_

Cobwebs of cracks splinter across the surface of the Horror table. Her eyes sting and roll back in her skull. Her head aches, and is that drool dripping from her mouth…?

Her throat feels scratchy, like something was trying to crawl its way out of her esophagus, so she lets it out.

\--

Maggie heard it first--

“WHAT IS _WRONG_ WITH HER?!”

\--and then everyone else followed. They all turned to Joan, who was seizing violently in her chair and keening a weird kind of distress call at the ceiling. She sounded like a great alien bird, piercing and sad and maddening all at once.

“What is she doing?!” Bessie yelped.

Kids turned to Mrs. Henderson, only to see that the substitute was reading peacefully at Mr. Stephens’s desk. She must have had her hearing aids turned off--or maybe she was just ignoring the scene entirely, and Katherine couldn’t tell what was more of a power move.

Kids out in the hallway were starting to peek inside curiously and ogled Joan as she shuddered and trembled awfully, still screeching. It was horrible to just sit there and watch her frenzy like this, so Katherine suddenly leapt up and wrapped Joan in her arms, forcing the shrieking girl to fold and crumble until she was small again, buried against Katherine’s chest, the noise muffled by her shirt.

The moment she touched her, Katherine got that awful twisty, ill feeling inside of her, but this time much worse. It was almost like hugging a bundle of static electricity that was slowly disintegrating her insides the longer she held on. 

Whatever it was--it wasn’t _natural_.

“Are you supposed to touch someone who’s having a seizure?” Maria asked.

“Is that what this is?” Katherine asked back.

Maria shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! Usually people don’t scream like that when they seize!”

Joan made a muffled noise against Katherine’s collarbone and Katherine gently stroked her hair to try and calm her.

“I know, I know, sweetie,” She whispered, even though she didn’t know. She had no idea what was going on or how to stop it. But she didn’t let go, even when it began to feel like a hand was reaching into her stomach and pulling all her organs out one by one.

“It’s okay, Joan, it’s okay,” She murmured.

“It’s too late,” Joan gurgled, “the angels are falling.”

And then, all the warmth in Joan’s body seemed to drain away beneath Katherine’s fingertips, her pulse beat heavily beneath her flesh, and one of the windows exploded into millions of golden pieces.

\------

“Here’s what I want. One, prom tickets for my daughter. A girl’s Year 13 prom is very important to her, and Anne is very upset.”

Principal Holbein stared up at Thomas Boleyn, a man with a lizard’s face, slick brown hair, and wrinkles of disapproval scored permanently around the sides of his mouth. His smile was dazzling, though, at least to older women, and his words were always sharp and cunning. His perpetual expression was sly, knowing, and malevolently gleeful at the same time, as though he knew several people wanted to punch him in the face but couldn’t because of his power as a lawyer. The expensive brown suit with hints of green and gold and shiny bronze buttons he was wearing put Holbein’s maroon sweater to shame. Even more shameful, however, was Miss Aragon’s orange (not yellow for once) tank stop and grey sweatshirt wrapped around the waist of her equally grey sweatpants, but she didn’t seem to care about that or the modesty of keeping her breasts covered. Hints of her dark indigo sports bra could be seen, and Holbein wondered if this clothing choice was for the purpose of showing off her muscled arms to let Boleyn know that he may have more legal power, but she had much more body power.

“She shouldn’t have misbehaved in detention, then,” Aragon spoke up, her own words barbed and seething with flames.

Boleyn turned to her, his eyes narrowed. Holbein caught the way he momentarily glanced at her arms, which were rippling with muscles beneath unblemished ivory skin, then raised his shoulders up like he was trying to seem bigger than she was. He was, in a body width and height sort of way, but Holbein didn’t doubt that one swift punch under the jaw from Aragon would knock this man’s lights out.

“I was not talking to you, Miss Aragon.” Boleyn said. “When I am, you will know because I will be looking at you.” Then, under his breath, “Like I would even speak to lowly gym teacher scum.”

Aragon pressed her tongue against the inside of her lip, and Holbein could hear the cracking of her knuckles when she clenched her fists. He flicked a hand at her as a sign to calm down and she, luckily, listened and sulked back against the wall. The heated glare she’s burning into Boleyn’s suit doesn’t become any less fierce, however. Holbein actually appreciated that; perhaps the constant glower from a strong, well-built woman would lower some of Boleyn’s defenses after a while.

“Two,” Boleyn started again, shifting his gaze back to Holbein. “No contract renewal for Miss Aragon.”

Holbein fumbled for a moment, glancing to the side to see Aragon’s reaction and noticing that her glare has gotten even more hateful. It’s a wonder that Boleyn’s suit hasn’t burst into flames by now.

“Ah, well--” Holbein said. “She’s already been reprimanded for what happened.” And by ‘reprimanded’, he meant ‘I was impressed that she risked hitting a student and said that it could get her into some serious trouble, but Anne has been asking for it for a long time and deserved it at that moment so I’m letting you off with a warning’, but Boleyn didn’t need to know that.

“Not good enough.” Boleyn shook his head. He sat down in one of the two chairs in front of the principal’s desk, which were made of fake leather, unlike his briefcase that also had edges and clasps of unblemished stainless steel. Aragon had rolled her eyes into the sky when she first saw it when he came in for the meeting. “Is this her first year at Kingston?”

“Third, actually,” Holbein corrected.

“Then surely she knows the rules of what teachers can and cannot do as punishment.”

“Yes,” Holbein said slowly. “She does. Still, we are very pleased to have her here.”

Boleyn scoffed. “You’re _pleased_?” He echoed in disdained amusement. “With teachers who slap students, throw them against lockers, and then assault them with feminine hygiene products?”

“That is a slightly more exaggerated version of events.” Holbein lied, knowing full well that was exactly what happened in the locker room and at detention.

“Is it?” Boleyn said, catching the lie.

“Yes, it is.” Holbein replied. “Besides--” He went on quickly when he saw Boleyn’s mouth open, “--the district acknowledges the school’s right to the _loco parentis._ We succeed to full rights during school hours. You might look at, ah, _Clarkson County School District v. Crane_.”

Boleyn was not as intimidated as Holbein was hoping he would be. In fact, he wasn’t intimidated at all. Instead, he chuckled darkly and shook his head, then looked at Holbein as if he were a fly caught in a spiderweb. 

“Ah, yes,” He said, “The Crane Case you administrators are so fond of quoting. You know, it doesn’t cover anything remotely concerned with physical and verbal abuse.”

Holbein exchanged a quick glance with Aragon, seeing that she was now slightly more tense and had lost her glare. Now she looked...almost frightened, which was a strange expression to see on her face.

“ _Lewiston School District v. David_ , however, does.” Boleyn went on. “Are you familiar with that one?”

Swallowing thickly and clenching his jaw, Holbein said through his teeth, “Yes.”

“Then I don’t need to tell you who won.” Boleyn said. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Holbein could see Aragon grinding her teeth in building rage. He knew how desperately she wanted to scream out about how unfair this was, how Joan Seymour deserved justice, and slapping Anne Boleyn was a start to getting it for all that she’s done, but she had to keep it wrangled up inside of her.

Until she blew her top, of course.

“If I took you to court on this,” Boleyn spoke up again, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smirk, “I could walk out with Aragon’s dismissal and a hefty damage settlement in my pocket.” He leaned back in his chair with a light snort. “But I don’t want to be vindictive.”

Holbein furrowed his eyebrows. He looked from Aragon to Boleyn for a moment, then said, “So...if I don’t agree to your demands, you will take me to court?”

Boleyn smiled balefully. “Off to court we’d go.”

“For physical and verbal abuse, is that right?” Holbein asked.

“Essentially.” Boleyn’s smile did not falter.

Holbein heaved a great sigh and leaned forward against his desk, stretching out a sore spot in his spine. Up close like this, he could see that Boleyn’s eyes were dark brown with hints of grey and were piercing deep into his soul, but he held his ground.

“Mr. Boleyn, are you aware that your daughter and her friends cornered one of their classmates in the ladies’ locker room, a girl named Joan Seymour?” He said. “She was having her first period and she thought she was dying.”

Boleyn’s smile twitched slightly. “I hardly think such an allegation is at issue here.” He said smoothly. “I am speaking of actions following--”

“Nevermind that.” Holbein cut him off. “Nevermind what we were speaking of before. Listen to me. They cornered her, yelled obscenities at her, and threw feminine hygiene products at her. Oh, and this girl--Joan Seymour--was completely naked and is only fifteen years old, by the way. Your daughter is eighteen, making her legally an adult, so this could easily count as sexual harassment towards a child and perhaps even pedophilia.”

Boleyn’s smile was completely gone now, replaced with a flat line.

“Anyway, and then they filled her locker up with tampons and wrote ‘plug it up’ on the door. Anne also spit on Joan, which, if done deliberately, if I remember hearing correctly, is seen as assault and can lead to fines and jail time.” Holbein paused to gauge Boleyn’s reaction. “Were you aware of any of that, Mr. Boleyn?”

Boleyn had his jaw set firmly and his eyes slanted into a spiteful leer, although he was trying to make himself seem calm. Holbein raised an eyebrow at him. Against the wall, Aragon perked up, her eyes flickering with renewed flames.

“You know, I’m not a lawyer, Mr. Boleyn,” She spoke up, “I’m just lowly gym teacher scum, but that sounds a lot like physical and verbal abuse to me.”

“It sounds that way to me, too,” Holbein agreed, nodding. “But what do we know, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aragon bobbed her head, barely able to smother her grin.

Boleyn grit his teeth, then checked his expensive gold watch and shot to his feet hastily. He tried to fix his fracturing mask of authority, but Holbein and Aragon had already chipped it too much. 

“I don’t need to sit here and listen to half-truths,” He said. “I think I know my daughter well enough to--”

“I don’t think you know your daughter quite as well as you think, Mr. Boleyn,” Holbein interjected, halting the man’s process of trying to flee. He sifted through a drawer in his desk and pulled out a stuffed manila folder. “If you did, you might realize that it’s time to tighten the leash you have her on. Or finally actually put one on her. You should probably teach her a lesson or two before she does some major damage.”

“You aren’t--” Boleyn’s face was growing to a bright shade of beat red.

“Kingston, four years!” Holbein announced loudly, reading from the folder on his desk. Aragon snickered from against the wall. “Graduates in early June. Tested IQ one hundred forty. Detentions, seventy-three. _Twenty_ of those have been for harassment of other students, might I add. She skipped out on fifty-one of those assigned detentions. In Secondary School, she once put a firecracker in a girl’s shoe as a prank and nearly cost her two toes--this is, by the way, your daughter’s file.” He glanced up at Boleyn’s petrified face, then began reading again, “Oh, and look at that! Despite having a C average, she was admitted into the Royal College of Music!” He closed the file and smiled innocently up at Boleyn. “Pull a few strings, Thomas?”

Boleyn seemed to be stewing in humiliation as he stood there with his hand clenched around his briefcase’s handle and his eyes narrowed into a harmless glare.

“I’ll see you in court.” He spat.

“Court it is, then!” Holbein declared. Aragon smirked cheekily against the wall, watching as Boleyn stormed out. “Oh, and Mr. Boleyn!”

Boleyn stopped, but didn’t look back.

“The moment you file damages on the grounds of physical and verbal abuse, I will cross-file against your daughter on those same grounds on behalf of Joan Seymour and the other nineteen students in this folder.” Holbein told him. Boleyn scowled over his shoulder at him. “Parent-teacher night is the first Tuesday of even numbered months. Hope you stop by.”

Boleyn growled lowly and whirled out of the room in a blur of real leather and expensive fabric. Holbein took a sip out of the mug of coffee on his desk, then looked at Aragon, who had an expression of awe and amusement on her face.

“Did he really say, ‘I’ll see you in court’?” 

They both burst out into laughter.

Which was quickly cut off by a woman bursting into the office with a girl held tightly by the arm.

It was Joan Seymour, who looked shaken up and ill.

A strange sensation suddenly filled the room, like charged electricity.

“Mrs. Henderson?” Holbein said, straightening up. He easily recognized the shrewd old woman from her big spectacles and hearing aids. “What’s going?”

“Hey!” Aragon barked at the same time. “Don’t hold her like that!” 

She rushed over and gently pulled Joan away from the substitute’s tight grip. Holbein noticed the way she strangely shuddered when she touched Joan, as if she had been shocked, but didn’t let go and guided her over to the desk.

Holbein couldn’t tell if the young girl looked better or worse than she did when she was first in his office on Friday.

“This troublemaker broke one of the windows in class.” Mrs. Henderson hissed in her shrill voice.

Holbein and Aragon exchanged matching confused glances, then looked down at Joan, who appeared profoundly uncomfortable. She was holding several books in her stick-thin arms, which she was also obviously trying to hide behind. Her eyes were blown out of focus, like she was doped up on too much Novocaine.

She didn’t look like the type to break a window at all.

“Joan?” Holbein said slowly. “Are you sure?”

Mrs. Henderson appeared quite ruffled at not being believed. “Yes!” She snapped. “The window is BROKEN! And everyone was blaming this one!”

“Hm.” Aragon said skeptically. She knelt down in front of Joan, gently cupping her cheeks so they’ll make eye contact. Holbein notes how she didn’t flinch at all when Aragon touched her and even seemed to lean into her hands. “Joan, baby girl, did you break a window?”

“No.” Joan said quietly, but firmly.

“Alright,” Aragon nodded. She stood back up. “I believe her.”

“What?” Mrs. Henderson exclaimed. 

“I have a pretty good lie detector,” Aragon said. “That’s why he,” She jerked her head back at Holbein, “can’t beat me at poker.”

“It’s true.” Holbein vouched for her. “I’ll send a custodian down right away, Mrs. Henderson. Was anyone hurt?”

“Not that I saw,” Mrs. Henderson said. 

“Well, that’s good, at least.” Holbein said. “You can get back to class now.”

Mrs. Henderson narrowed her eyes at Joan, then huffed and left the room. Holbein blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair. Aragon looked down at Joan with a worried expression.

“Joan, sweetheart,” She said gently. “Are you alright?”

Joan hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “Can I go home?” She asked softly.

“Home?” Holbein echoed in confusion.

Joan nodded. She raised her head slightly to meet his gaze and he thought he could see something swimming in her pale grey-blue eyes. 

“Please?”

Usually, Holbein would say no unless something was really wrong, but something told him not to deny the request--that this girl needed to go home and he should not get in her way.

“Alright,” He said, pulling out a dismissal slip like before, like the last time she was in here. She looked at deathly pale as she did then. “Can you walk or would you like a cab? We can also call your mother.”

“No.” Joan said quickly, looking nervous. “Y-you don’t--you don’t need to call her. I can walk.”

“Okay,” Holbein nodded. He handed her the dismissal slip and she mumbled a tiny, “thank you.”

“I do hope you feel better, Joan.” Holbein told her.

“Me too,” Aragon said. She gently touched Joan’s shoulder. “If you ever need anything, I’m here.”

Joan nodded, whispered her thanks again, then walked out. 

It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet.

“I’m worried about her, Hans.” Aragon said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. Concern glowed in her dark brown-black eyes. “There’s something...not quite right about her. I could feel it when I touched her.” She shook her head. “That little girl has been through horrible things.”

\------

Humid spring air wrapped around Joan as she walked, and her skin tingled. Not with the weather, but the sensation inside of her. It put pressure on her lungs, her heart, her brain, until it felt like her entire body was about to burst apart into tiny little chunks.

She breathed in deeply, and the oxygen sliced her throat like a hot knife.

Blood was dripping between her legs, but slower than it was on Friday. The spurts don’t come as often anymore, and she was very grateful for that. She wondered if this menstrual cycle was the cause of her feeling this way.

Hunger gnawed at her. She needed to eat, and she had some money with her in her bag, so she trudged along the gloomy road to a plaza in the city. Sometimes people shouted at her there but they never actually followed her, so she felt like it was okay to go to for lunch.

Shops line the square-shaped enclosure, with a large patch of well-kept green grass in the middle. Several small children too young to be in school were playing in the turf while their parents watched on when she turned into the pavilion. One mother saw her coming and pulled her twin boys against her protectively, glaring at Joan as if she were the grim reaper hunting for its next victims. Joan stared back at her with a wounded expression, but the mother did not break her gaze. Joan looked away and kept walking down the sidewalk. On the way, she passed a hairdresser, an establishment called “Cut and Colour”. On their sign, a little rainbow with the wrong colors comes arcing out of the word “Colour”.

She automatically touched her head, as if she were checking if her hair was still there. Last time she went there they cut it far too short. The time before that, the woman was talking to her friend and she made a thin patch at the back. The time before that, she explained what she wanted in a nervous stutter and they laughed at her. Mama cuts her hair, now.

( _hate them i want to stab scissors in her eyes_ )

The fish and chip shop she entered for lunch was busy. There are two guys working: a fat one and one with a mustache. She has to wait in the queue for nearly ten minutes, staring at the battered black puddings which have been in the fryer too long and listening to the slow-moving staff making racist jokes. 

( _awful people awful i want to stick their awful heads into the fryer_ )

_Flex_

There was that feeling again. Like something was tugging on her muscles. She looked down at her hands, but they looked exactly the same as they always did. Then, she twisted around and grabbed one of her books on telekinesis she had stuffed into her bag. She opened it up and began to read as she waited.

Just as she was about to get served, a skinny woman with a bright, fake tan and too much makeup on breezed inside. She wore a padded, sleeveless jacket with furry armholes. The fat guy behind the counter stands up straight. 

“Hello, Al,” She purred.

“H-hello, Angela,” He stammered. “What can I get you?”

Joan looked up sharply from her book. This woman was curvy and weirdly skinny. Not like her own form of skinny, not like she was starved, too, but, rather, she was thin for the sake of being thin. She must have thought it looked nice, but Joan just thought it made her look like a really spiffy skeleton in those clothes.

“Um,” Joan spoke up meekly, wincing at the way her voice wobbled and shook. She shyly tugged at the woman’s coat. “E-excuse me?”

The woman, Angela, apparently, turned her head and squinted down at Joan. “What?” She spat.

“Leave her alone, Joan.” The worker with the mustache said, not looking over.

“Joan?” Angela echoed, her eyes wide. “Joan _Seymour_?”

“There’s a queue.” Joan said, not approving or denying the question.

“You’re actually a lot cuter up close,” Angela mused, also ignoring what Joan was saying. “I thought you were gangly like your mother.”

Joan clenched her fists. “Don’t talk about my Mama like that, please.” She said, barely containing a growl.

“Aww, your Mama?” Angela crooned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was that important to you.”

( _stupid jezebel stupid whore i should push you out of a tower like her ha ha ha ha then you’d crack your ugly slut head and die_ )

“There’s a queue.” Joan said through her teeth. She hated when adults treated her like this. She rather them pretend like she didn’t exist. “Please move. I was next.”

A retort formed on Angela’s lips but it died as Joan stared her down with her big pale eyes. 

“Put a king rib in for me, Al,” She said to the fat man behind the counter. As she strutted by to the back of the queue, she hissed under her breath, “Little bitch.” 

Joan pretended she didn’t hear her, even though it was clear as day on her face that she did.

Finally, she reached the head of the queue and ordered one fish supper. Al shoveled out chips which look distinctly undercooked. Joan didn’t say anything and handed him her money. Al took a lot longer than usual to check it, like he was making sure she wasn’t using any fake currency, but she eventually got a hot packet of fish and chips in a thin bag. On the side is written: _HAPPY TO SERVE YOU—COME AGAIN!_

Joan ducked out of the shop and found a place to sit near the grass. The squeals and giggles of children were distracting, but she managed to tune them out one she started reading in another of her books. 

She was about halfway through her lunch and on a very interesting paragraph on the history of telekinesis when a voice called out.

“For a Christian girl, she looks pretty fuckable…”

Joan’s back straightened so quickly that it sent off a miniature twenty-one-gun salute of pops and cracks down her spine and a pang of agony through her temples as her head whipped upright fully. From the corner of her eye, she could see a group of college kids sitting outside the fish and chips shop from which the voice had originated. One of them smirked when he saw her look up.

“That got her attention!” He chortled and slapped the arm of a young man sitting next to him. “I guess you were right, Garrett! She does want to fuck you!”

“What’d I tell you?” The one who had made the first comment, Garrett, said.

On occasion, there were people whose voices were the exact opposite of what you’d expect to be coming out of their bodies. Joan had heard deep death-rattles coming from the scrawniest, weediest-looking individuals and voices like songbirds come out of people big enough that they could crush her head with one hand.

Such was not the case with this man. Garrett looked exactly like his voice sounded.

He had to be around nineteen or twenty, with dark blue, beetle-like eyes and neatly combed dirty blonde hair. He was big, too. The navy blue jersey he wore was stretched tightly over a muscular chest and broad shoulders. 

That is to say, he was rough, enormous, and looked every bit like the sort of person who’d make catcalls to young teenage girls in a public area.

The group of people he was sitting among were obviously his friends—or perhaps they just went to the same college—because it was clear they liked him. They were all laughing like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

“Come on, Garrett, leave the freak alone,” Said one of them, a curvy blonde girl with ruby red lipstick. But even as she scolded, there was a sick, pearly grin of amusement on her face, which rendered the disapproving words about as effective as trying to douse a fire with gasoline and live dogs.

“Hey, I’m not doing anything wrong!” Beamed Garrett with a smart-alecky ‘who, me?’ expression. It was the sort of look worn by someone who thinks he’s being terribly cute and clever but has failed to realize that once you pass a certain age, the rascal act doesn’t work anymore. “I was just saying she’s pretty. There’s nothing wrong with complimenting people, is there, little church girl?” 

He puckered up a pair of wet red lips and made some kind of grotesque smacking noise that only passed for a kissing sound in his group’s hilarious reality.

Joan didn’t budge. She had her fingers now gripped at the edge of her book and was sitting perfectly still, like a rabbit that had just wandered unwittingly into a den of coyotes and only just realized its mistake. 

“I’m not a little girl,” She forced out, but her voice was quiet and shaky. Her lungs felt constricted with hot iron bands. If she had a panic attack, would they leave her alone? “I’m fifteen.” If there had been a ‘State the Obvious’ contest going on, she’d have won with that sentence in a heartbeat. The fact that she had to even clarify that at all was a testament to how very, very wrong this entire situation was. “And...th-th-thank you...but I-I d-don’t want to k-kiss you…” 

There was a collective roar as the entire group, Garrett included, exploded into laughter, pounding their fists on the table they were sitting at and making the glasses rattle. A few of them laughed so hard that tears, their glistening easily visible in the grey light outside, started to pour down their cheeks. People were starting to glance over now, and a few children began to giggle along with the college kids, despite clearly not knowing what was going on.

Less visible was the angry, humiliated flush that had started to creep up into Joan’s cheeks, and the way her fists had started to tremble. Frustrated by her own inability to be more intimidating than a bunch of wild college delinquents who liked to pick on kids. Of course she would be.

( _imagine them all bloody and screaming for mercy yes yes yes good good good_ )

Eventually the laughter started to die and Garrett lifted a hand to wipe the water away from his beetle-blue eyes, wheezing.

“You’re a FEISTY little thing, aren’t you?” His tone was still jovial, but somewhere deep in that mockery of a friendly voice was a sort of darkness hidden down there like a fishing hook in a slice of bread. “Come on, church girl! Don’t you want to know what God looks like? One hour with me and you’ll be ascended into heaven!”

Joan could only sit there as the entire scene unfolded, her body as stiff as if it were riddled with rigor mortis. She wanted to run or yell or wave her arms or something, but her legs were rooted to the bench she was sitting on; she couldn’t even budge. Her mental mask had now slipped irretrievably out of her grasp, leaving the paralyzed panic bare on her face. Her heart was hammering and her hands were clenched so hard that her knuckles had turned pure white, painting the nicks and cuts on them an even brighter red.

It was like watching a horror movie, the sort where you could see exactly what was coming and every inch of you ached to yell, ‘Don’t open that door!’, but knew that no amount of begging would stop the hapless hero on the screen from opening the hell out of that door and being dragged inside, kicking and screaming and completely surprised. Because no matter how obvious it was to the watcher, it wasn’t to the hero.

Otherwise they wouldn’t _be_ the hero.

“No.” She whispered, just loud enough for the group to hear. “P-please leave me alone.”

There was another uproarious bout of laughter over Joan’s “spunk”. Joan tensed up even more and squeezed her eyes shut, willing this all to go away. But when she opened them again, she was still in the plaza, and Garrett was now in front of her.

Joan flinched backwards, barely able to bite back a scream of shock. Garrett smiled down at her and plopped down beside her, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

( _please please please don’t touch me oh god god god_ )

“I bet you’re a real hotty under all of that,” He said, nodding at her flannel and overalls. “Wonder what you’d look like with all it off…”

Why wasn’t anyone doing anything?

Joan glanced around frantically, desperately and spotted several people around the plaza, all doing their own thing. But they were listening, she knew they were. 

“Shouldn’t we do something?” She heard one woman whisper to a man sitting beside her.

“She can leave any time she wants,” Said the man nonchalantly, just shrugging his shoulders, and Joan had to wonder if there was something wrong with him, too. Would a normal person just let something like this happen? “She hasn’t been hurt at all. And this’ll just teach her to be grateful about the attention she gets. He’s just trying to be nice, there’s no need to be such a bitch.”

The woman pursed her lips, nodded, and fell silent.

“And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t interfere over there, either.”

Joan was stunned. Did he--or any of them--not hear the sickening sexual words floating out of this dark part of the plaza? Had he seriously failed to notice the hunger for younger girls in Garrett’s eyes?

Then it occurred to Joan that the man probably _had_ seen it.

He just didn’t _care_.

No one in the plaza seemed to care.

Not enough to do something.

“Come on, baby,” Garrett’s lips were getting close to Joan’s neck. “I’ve already got at least ten ways I’m going to fuck you.”

Joan jerked away and jumped to her feet. Garrett lunged after her, grabbing her by the arm tightly, and Joan squealed in pain and fright.

_Flex_

**_Fission_ **

Garrett’s legs were ripped out from under him by an unseen force and he crumpled to the ground, clipping his head on the edge of the bench on the way down. Joan stared with side eyes and then grabbed her belongings, backing away. Garrett looked up at her, rubbing the back of his head.

“What the fuck?!” He yelled. “I wasn’t doing anything to you! I was just messing around!”

Joan whimpered and took another step back. Garrett’s friends were coming over, now. She had to leave.

“HEY!!” Garrett roared as she began to run out of the plaza. “GET BACK HERE, YOU SLUT!!!”

Joan did not stop. She didn’t stop running until she got back to her house and safely inside. Mama wasn’t home yet- it was only eleven o’clock. But she desperately wanted Mama now, so she hobbled upstairs and laid down in Mama’s room, inhaling her comforting scent of honey and laundry detergent through her haze of tears.

( _imagine them all dead and bloody with maggots and rats crawling over their faces yes yes good good good_ )

One day, she would get her revenge on all of them. On this whole damn town. But for now, she just rested and waited for Mama.

\------

Several hours later, long after school was left out for the day, Katherine staggered into her house’s mudroom, her arms and legs like rubber, and her sneakers squelching with every step she took. The sun was starting to set, her clothes clung to her skin, and she had an hour until she was supposed to meet with Anna at a pub to hang out.

She sat down on the floor and began unknotting shoelaces that had tightened with repeated wetting of the damp school field thanks to rain earlier that day. A fingernail bent backwards, her hands shook and cramped, and she dropped her forehead to her knees. Grime scratched between the layers of skin. When she started again, and the laces came loose, she set the wet shoes on the porch, peeled off socks, and wiped her feet carefully.

Upstairs, she climbed into the shower with her clothes on and washed them before removing, rinsing, and hanging them to dry over the rod. As hot water hit her skin, it stung, but her muscles were slowly soothed of their aching tension from Miss Aragon’s ruthless detention punishment. Leaning against the wall, she let the water wash over her, taking rivulets of mud down her legs to circle the drain. She jerked awake as she felt herself sliding along the wall and forced herself to get out, towel off, and dress herself in fresh clothes.

It wasn’t until she went back downstairs for a much-needed glass of cold ice water that she noticed the dress.

Her prom dress.

It was a beautiful purple-pink color that shimmered in the light. There was only one sleeve, on the right shoulder, which would cross down over her breasts and wrap around the left side of her torso. It was made of fine silk and the stitching was the best she’s ever seen.

“Jane finished it today,” Said a voice from behind.

Katherine turned to see her older sister, Isabel, standing there, smiling. 

“Thank you for picking it up,” She said. “It’s so pretty.”

“I know right!” Isabel agreed. “You’re gonna look amazing!”

Katherine smiled, but something ached in her heart when she looked back at her dress. She gently ran her hands over the sides, taking in its beauty, and knew she didn’t deserve to wear it.

\------

“You’re joking, right?”

Anna was blinking at her, trying very hard to pretend like she hadn’t just heard the words that had come out of her mouth. Katherine sighed and rubbed her forehead slowly. The noise from the pub was making her headache worse.

“No, Anna,” She said. “I’m not joking.”

“You want me to take Joan Seymour to prom?” Anna repeated the request slowly, like she was trying to make it sound real.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Katherine sighed again. She knew this would be difficult, but her throbbing headache, overwhelming guilt, and images of her gorgeous prom dress flashing in her head didn’t make this any better. The conversation she had with Anne minutes earlier didn’t help either.

The grey clouds overhead were ignited with hues of burnt orange and burgeoning pink when Katherine had entered the pub. She instantly made a beeline for the booth Anna was sitting at, but was flagged down by Anne, who also liked to come to this particular restaurant. Begrudgingly, Katherine had signaled for Anna to wait a moment and then walked over to her cousin, noticing that Cathy was there, too, looking as pompous as ever.

“Hey, Kat,” Cathy greeted.

“Hey, Cathy.” Katherine greeted back kindly.

“I heard you dry heaved in detention,” Anne teased playfully.

“I heard your dad dropped a lawsuit,” Katherine said, sliding into the chair across from her cousin.

Anne rolled her eyes with a groan. “He’s such a pussy.” She said exasperatedly. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. We’re going to crash the prom. You know, like a protest or something.”

“Is that so?” Katherine tilted her head. It didn’t sound too outside the box for her cousin. She’s seen her do stranger things.

“I’m totally joking.” Anne said, dismissing it. “Oh, and thanks for having my back with Aragon, by the way! We could have had them by the balls! Why didn’t you march out of that place with me?”

“Because I, and everyone else in detention, kind of want to go to prom.” Katherine said. “And we deserved it. Miss Aragon was right. What we did to Joan was a really shitty thing. She’s just a kid, Anne.”

“How old is she?” Cathy asked. She had been listening quietly, a curious look in her hazel eyes.

“Fifteen.” Katherine answered, and her stomach twisted in shame. She had bullied a minor when she was an adult… God, she was awful.

Cathy whistled. Anne seemed to have a different outlook than her girlfriend, however.

“Bullshit!” Anne growled. “That Joan Seymour goes around saying how everyone except her and her psychotic mother are going straight to hell and you stick up for her?” Her face was beginning to grow red with rage, voice pitching and raising with her rising temper, but she cooled down slightly when Cathy leaned over and kissed against her neck. She huffed, growling out, “We should have taken those tampons and shoved them down her throat.”

Katherine gasped in horror so loud a few people from other tables, including Anna, looked over curiously. “Anne!” Then, she noticed the stares and calmed herself, waving a hand to Anna to let her know she was okay. She turned her gaze back to Anne, who was rolling her eyes. “Anne. You can’t say that.”

“Yes I can.” Anne said. “Come on, Kitty! She walks around like she gets her Massengill blessed down at Holy Family.”

“She freaked out,” Katherine said. “Cut her some slack.”

“No, she’s always freaking out!” Anne cried, flabbergasted. “Like that time she had that seizure a few months ago in gym class and told everyone that she was speaking in tongues.”

Katherine winced at the memory. Joan had dropped to the ground like a bird with broken wings out of nowhere in the middle of a game of football. Everyone crowded around her and just watched as she seized out of control in the grass, frothing at the mouth like she had rabies and making a soundless scream. When she eventually snapped out of her spastic trance (with guard dog Miss Aragon knelt down beside her, glaring at the class), she began to babble these weird sentences like, “I’m blooming inside” and “There are spots in your souls.” It was strange, yes, but nothing she deserved to be made fun over, especially if she had a medical condition like epilepsy.

Thinking back on it, Katherine realized that that seizure was a lot like the fit Joan had that morning. Except there was the noises she had made and the twisty sensation when Katherine touched her, which was still shivering through her tendons hours later.

She decided not to tell Anne about that incident, but she was sure she already knew.

“Maybe she thought she _was_ speaking in tongues,” Katherine said.

“Oh, please,” Anne rolled her eyes. “She’s been working that martyr bit since Year 4, and I’m sick of it.”

Katherine sighed softly, mustering a rueful smile. “You’ll be strong.”

Anne narrowed her eyes dangerously. “When did you start acting all self righteous?” She said. “Oh, it’s because you’re sorry, isn’t it? If that’s the case, then why did you keep running?”

“What?” Katherine snapped.

“Why did you keep running?” Anne repeated. “If you’re so innocent, why did you keep running at detention?”

“Because that’s what we were instructed to do.” Katherine said. 

“Oh no,” Anne shook her head. “You kept running Kit, little Kitty, because you’ve been dreaming of Year 13 and the perfect girlfriend and the perfect prom your whole goddamn life.”

Katherine winced. This was why she hated fighting with her cousin. Anne knew her weaknesses better than anyone and knew exactly how to sink her teeth into those sore spots to make her squirm.

“I bet you already booked the hotel.” Anne went on, cruelty dripping from her words like serpent’s venom. “Already...practiced the sounds you’re going to make…” She began to pant like she was being plowed into, rocking her body against the chair in a way that made Cathy’s eyebrows raise up in interest. Katherine’s face heated up with anger and embarrassment. “...when you and Anna...make love…” She stopped after a moment, and the lust-filled expression on her face quickly contorted into one of hate and spite. “That’s why you had this bullshit change of heart. You don’t give a shit about Joan Seymour, and everybody knows it.”

Katherine clenched her jaw tightly, let her rage boil to the breaking point, and then blew out the breath she was holding.

“Yeah,” She said. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Anne blinked at her silently. It was obvious she had been expecting more than that. Perhaps even a physical fight.

“Well, Anna is waiting for me.” Katherine said. “I’ll see you around, Anne. Bye, Cathy.”

She turned and walked to Anna’s booth, and that’s exactly when she made up her mind.

She would not be going to prom.

But still, putting it into words was not as easy as she thought it would be.

“Are you high?” Anna asked. She’s dipped her head slightly, trying to catch Katherine’s gaze. Katherine hadn’t even realized she had been lost in her own thoughts and regrets and guilt.

“What?” Katherine snapped back to full awareness. She blinked at Anna. “Wh-- No!”

“Let’s make a rule,” Anna said, “If they do something in a Freddie Prince Jr. movie, we’re not allowed to do it in real life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want me to take Joan Seymour to prom.” Anna began to explain. “Which is like that movie where Freddie bets he can turn this she-geek into a prom queen. Except, unlike Joan Seymour, this chick is a supermodel, but we’re not supposed to know it because she’s wearing glasses or something.” Katherine just looked at her, so she went on, “I got the whole ‘me take Joan to prom’ thing, but there are a couple things I don’t understand.”

“Name them.”

“One, what good would it do? And two, how do you even know she’ll say yes?”

“I just do, okay?” Katherine said. “You stood up for her in Mr. Stephens’s class when no one else did. Not even me, and I want to help her. You should have seen the way she looked at you…”

Anna tipped her head thoughtfully. “I guess she did compliment my poem.”

Katherine laughed slightly. “Exactly!”

“But I still want to go with you.”

Katherine groaned loudly and buried her head in her arms on the tabletop. Anna reached out and patted her head.

“There, there,” She said.

“You aren’t helping.” Katherine growled. She looked up and saw that Anna was smiling. “Anna...please listen to me. I’m trying to make things right.”

“Because of what happened in the showers?”

“It’s more than that,” Katherine admitted guiltily. “Joan’s been bullied and tormented for years, ever since Primary School. I’ve joined in on it sometimes. And I’m only now realizing how terrible it was and how awful I am and I’m so, so guilty and I just NEED to do one thing right.”

Anna pursed her lips. “But...isn’t she, like, super religious? If I take her as a date, then…”

“Not as a date-date, you doofus.” Katherine said. “Just as a friend. She needs one. Really badly.”

“Okay,” Anna said slowly. “Okay, so if gender clearly doesn’t matter, then why don’t you bring her? Or we all go as a group or something?”

Katherine sighed and began to rub her forehead again. “Believe me, if I could bring her, I would, but the poor thing gets so scared when I’m around her. No matter what I do or say, she just keeps closing herself off even more. And we can’t go as a group because 1) you know she would third wheel big time, 2) we’d probably even forget she’s there because we're too wrapped up in each other to notice, and 3) I don’t deserve to go. Not after what I’ve done.”

“You really shouldn’t beat yourself up over it,” Anna said gently. “You’re a kid. Kids do stupid things.”

Katherine shook her head ruefully. “No, Anna, I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. Joan is a kid.” She paused for a moment, then shook her head again, like she was trying to dislodge all the guilty thoughts sticking to her brain. “Hardly anybody ever finds out their actions actually really hurt someone. People don’t get better, they just get smarter. When you get smarter, you don’t stop pulling the wings off flies, you just think of better reasons for doing it. Lots of kids say they feel sorry for Joan Seymour--mostly girls, and _that’s_ a laugh--but I bet none of them understand what it’s like to _be_ Joan Seymour, every second of every day. And they don’t really care.”

“And you do?” Anna asked.

“I don’t know!” Katherine cried. “But Anna--one small act of kindness might change Joan’s life for good.”

Anna was quiet.

“Take her to prom and be nice to her and hold her hand.” Katherine said softly. “Give her a magical night that she’ll always remember. And when she looks back on it, she’ll smile because the most wonderful, sweet, amazing girl took her to prom and was her friend.” She ducked her head to meet Anna’s gaze, a small smile creeping up on her lips. “Please?”

Anna just looked at her for a long time, and Katherine could see the conflicting emotions warring together inside of her dark eyes. Her headache was just starting to recede when her girlfriend finally sighed.

“Alright.” Anna said.

Katherine’s head shot up. “Alright?”

“I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

Anna looked her in the eyes, full sincerity in her gaze, so much love she’s ready to shower on her new prom date and said, “Yes.”

Looking back on it now, Katherine really wished she hadn’t. 


	5. Mommy Dearest

“Do you know what it means to conspire, Katherine?”

“Yeah. It’s like when you plot to do something behind someone’s back.”

“You make a secret plan to commit unlawful acts.”

“What did I just say?” Said the teenager sitting across from the detective. They’ve been in that room asking questions and answering statements for hours, and it was clear she was starting to become impatient and restless with it all. Clusters of sweat glistened along the crown of her head from the harsh interrogation light pinned on her.

“You see, some people are having trouble believing that you had your girlfriend, Anna von Cleves, take Joan Seymour to the prom out of the kindness of your heart.” Mulaney said. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Katherine asked, slightly defensive.

“Well, Anna and Anne were both friends of yours…”

“Look, I told you, okay?” Katherine said. “Anne and I had a falling out.”

“And I’d like to believe that,” Mulaney said honestly, “but the going theory is that the three of you conspired to get Joan Seymour to prom to humiliate her. And then something went wrong and a lot of people were killed.”

Katherine swallowed thickly. A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face. Mulaney didn’t say it out loud, but she knew what he was thinking.

People thought she was a murderer.

\------

Anna found her in the library Wednesday morning.

It had taken her a moment--she had to ask Mrs. Johansen for the whereabouts of the girl, but she eventually hiked up the steep wooden staircase to the upper ledge of the library and peeked in through the small window on a door that sat in between two shelves of historical fiction books.

Partially blank papers and dozens of books were lying across four different tables inside of the private study room, their shiny black ink illuminated by the yellow glow of a small lamp. There were a few notebooks, too, scrawled with drawings of objects and human diagrams. A computer was on, its white light reaching to the figure clad in a dark blue sweater and a cream skirt that was hunched over with her back to Anna, writing fervently with a barn owl feather quill. Her platinum blonde hair was shimmering in waves of iridescent from the computer.

Anna knocked, but she didn’t seem to hear her. She waited a moment, almost considering leaving and just telling Katherine she was turned down, then opened the door.

_That_ got her attention.

Joan Seymour whirled around, scattering several pieces of paper in her panic. Ink from her quill flew like black blood through the air, landing in a spattered line on a sketch of a three-dimensional cube with strange symbols and squiggles radiating off of it. The book she had been going through was slammed shut, as if she were scared of being caught reading the content matter. Porn, perhaps? No...Joan definitely was not the type to read porn...and in such a public place, too.

There was a beat of silence between the two, Anna blinking in rapt amusement and Joan staring with the eyes of a little white calf about to get its throat cut open.

And then: “Hey.”

“H-hello.”

“Whatcha reading? Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Joan shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the book she had her hand planted on firmly, as if she were trying to keep the story from leaking out of the pages. She looked back up at Anna, floundering for an answer.

“N-nothing,” She finally replied. “J-just something about, umm--s-sewing.”

Anna highly doubted it was about sewing, but she didn’t push it. 

“What else do you like to read?” Anna asked. She glanced over at the other books scattered around the room. “Harry Potter? Hunger Games? Percy Jackson?”

“Oh, no,” Joan shook her head. “My Mama says that stuff was made by the devil and will rot your brain. I’m not allowed to read books like that.”

_What an awful childhood she must have had,_ Anna thought sadly, tilting her head at Joan. _Poor thing._

“Well, if you ever need book recommendations,” She said. “I read a lot. So I know a few.” She winked at Joan, and, for the briefest of moments, Joan cracked a tiny ghost of a smile.

But then it went away in an instant, snuffed out like a candle in a winter whirlwind because caution and worry were shoving their way into Joan’s brain. She looked Anna up and down again, then stepped back. She’s retreated back into her shell, suddenly frightened.

“Wh-why are you doing this?” She asked softly, hugging her book close to her chest like she thought it may protect her from cruel words or even physical blows. “Wh-why are y-you…” She trailed off, looking away.

"I'm just being nice." Anna said. She stepped inside of the study room fully, closing the door behind her. Joan backed up against the table she was at, fear in her eyes. Anna noticed and then quickly opened the door again, hopefully letting her know that she wasn’t going to trap her inside and try anything. Joan relaxed only the tiniest bit.

Up close like this, Anna realized this was the first time she ever really got a good look at Joan Seymour (because she never bothered to before). The girl before her was far from hideous like everybody seemed to say. She had porcelain skin with no hints of acne, but, rather, the old, faded shadows of numerous bruises that were spattered across her soft, youthful features like blue and purple paint that would never truly wash away no matter how hard she scrubbed. Her hair was platinum blonde, but so faint that it was more a white-gold kind of shade, glimmering like silken strands of diamonds in the computer’s light, and her eyes were as pale as the moon reflecting on ice, casting dark bags underneath their sockets. Her head was narrow, with hollowed cheeks and big, round ears like a mouse’s. The dark blue sweater she was wearing practically drowned her body, which lacked a severe amount of muscles and body fat, but still somehow looked fitting for her type of demeanor rather than frame. Her hands were laced with old burn scars, something Anna was only just now seeing up close, cobwebs of healed blisters stretching like cracks in glass along frail skin. She smelled like rosemary and cinnamon, reminiscent of her breakfast that morning.

“So…” Anna began slowly. “Are you feeling any better?”

Joan blinked. “H-huh?”

“From yesterday?” Anna specified. “You had a seizure in Mr. Stephens’s class.”

Joan looked a touch embarrassed. “Oh.” She said. “Y-yes. I’m fine. Th-that, umm--that happens--sometimes.”

“Oh.” Anna frowned. “Are you epileptic?”

“What do you want?”

Was that...frustration in Joan’s eyes? No...she was just guarded. Very guarded. She had more walls put up around herself than any normal person should have--not that Joan Seymour was anything but normal. Anna could see that even without knowing about her telekinesis, and that made her a little endearing.

“Okay,” Anna said, “you know how prom is this Saturday?”

Joan said nothing. Anna quickly started speaking again.

“Well, I was wondering, if you didn’t have a date...would you like to go with me?”

Joan closed her eyes in a very long blink, and Anna could practically see the gears in her head shifting as she processed what had just been said to her. Her forehead creased, lips trembling ever so slightly, nostrils twitching. Then, she opened her eyes again and Anna could see so many emotions flashing in those twin grey-blue moons--fear, wonderment, disbelief, glee, confusion. No anger, though. Anna had expected at least a hint of anger at being disturbed or spoken to over this topic.

“What?”

“The prom. It’s this Saturday.”

“I don’t like being tricked.”

Joan was moving before Anna had even finished her sentence, like only then she had fully understood the words spoken to her. She began gathering all her papers and books and journals, shoving them into her light brown messanger bag in a very untidy way in her haste. She threw her pens and quills in after them, shut off the lamp and computer, and then rushed past Anna, clutching her bag to her chest instead of slinging it on her shoulder.

“Joan!”

Anna hurried after her, watching as the younger girl haphazardly walked down the steep staircase (perhaps she just didn’t care about tripping and falling and busting her head open) and back to the main level. There was a sort of dignity in her stride, but Anna didn’t miss the way her shoulders quivered ever so slightly.

“Joan, hey! Wait!”

Joan stopped, but not because of Anna’s beckoning. Her strange eyes were on Maggie, Bessie, and Maria, whispering and giggling away at a round table a few yards away. They hadn’t noticed Joan yet, but just their presence near her alone was enough to petrify Joan. Anna quickly swerved in front of her line of sight. Joan looked up at her with barely-contained terror. When she speaks, her words are surprisingly sharp with hidden thorns.

“Do you people think you can just go on tricking me forever?” 

“This isn’t a trick.” Anna said sincerely.

“I know who you hang around with.”

“Who I hang around with has nothing to do with this.” Anna said. “I’m asking you because I want to.”

That made Joan falter.

She blinked several times, as if she were trying to wake herself from a dream she knew would never come true. Then, she tilted her head like a confused puppy and asked, “Why?”

Anna felt her heart break.

She could see it now, all the years of torment and bullying and loneliness. Fifteen long years without any friends or anyone to laugh with or anyone to lean on when times got rough. She didn’t know how Joan did it. When she had moved to England from Germany when she was eleven, she thought she would never make friends. She felt like her entire life was ruined, that nobody would want to talk to her and like her, and that would be the end of Anna von Cleves.

Luckily for her, however, lots of people at her new school had wanted to be friends with the “cool German girl” and she found her main click in the process--although she didn’t meet the love of her life, Katherine Howard, until three years later. But if she hadn’t made all those friends, if, instead, she was met with ridicule and bullying and abuse, there was no way she would have lived this long.

No wonder Joan looked so miserable all the time. The poor thing was just lonely. She wanted a friend, just like Katherine had said. And Anna was going to be that friend, even if it was only for one night, whether Joan liked it or not.

She would not be taking no for an answer.

“Because you’re...different.” Anna said.

Joan’s brow twitched a little, and Anna couldn’t tell if she was offended or not. Haze watched them with intrigued marble eyes from over the top of its book.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Anna clarified quickly. “It’s actually kinda cool. Like an anti-establishment kind of thing.”

Joan blew out a soft breath from her nose and looked away. That was not the right thing to say. Now she just seemed embarrassed.

“Okay, you’re not different.” Anna said. “You’re, ah...mysterious.” She said the word with a playful grin and Joan looked up, a slight light returning to her eyes. “How’s that?”

“What--what about Katherine Howard?” Joan asked softly.

“What about her?”

“She’s your girlfriend… Why aren’t you taking her?”

“Oh. Right.” Anna said. “She doesn’t want to go.”

Joan seemed skeptical. She shifted slightly, holding a thick purple book close to her chest like she thought it could protect her heart from being broken. Being asked to prom seemed like a dream come true to Joan, but she was so used to being hurt that she couldn’t trust the request at all.

“I asked her if I could take you and she said it was a really good idea.”

“Why would she say that?”

Anna looked around, then leaned in close, “Can you keep a secret?” She asked. “Seriously, I mean it. If this gets back to Kat that I told you this she’ll kill me.”

Joan’s eyes sparkled with wonderment at being trusted with something and she nodded furiously. “I-I can. I won’t tell, I promise.”

She had no one _to tell_.

“She thinks you’re really interesting.” Anna told Joan. 

Joan is stunned, mouth half open, eyes wide with disbelief.

“She thinks you’ve got a lot more going on than people know.” Anna went on. “And I think a part of her wants to see the look on her cousin’s face when she finds out that you get to go to prom and she doesn’t.”

Joan sniffled, and Anna saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“I would love to.” She stammered. “I would.”

“Then say yes.” Anna urged.

“No,” Joan shook her head, looking away. “It would be a nightmare…”

“Come on, today is the last day to buy tickets.”

The bell rang and kids started to filter out of the library to get to their first period class. Joan tried to leave, but Anna blocked her path. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Maggie and her friends were looking over at them with confused faces.

“We’re gonna be late for class…” Joan mumbled.

“Will you?” Anna asked.

“I can’t.” Joan choked out. She was trying very hard to keep herself from crying, and it was making her voice crack and pitch it a heartbreaking way.

“You’re going.” Anna said firmly.

“They’ll laugh.” Joan said miserably. She shook her head, whimpering. “They always laugh, Anna…”

“No one will laugh.” Anna promised her. “If they do,” She gently lifted Joan’s chin to look into her glistening eyes, “I’ll kick their ass.”

A few tears managed to spill free and streamed down Joan’s cheeks, which were dusted with a faint pink blush. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, then whispered, “Okay.”

Anna perked up. “Is that a yes?”

Slightly louder this time, more confident, voice thick with tears of joy, “Yes. I’ll go.”

“Great!” Anna smiled. “I’ll pick you up at 7:30.”

And Joan actually smiled. “Fine.”

Anna gently eased an arm around her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get to class.”

“Thank you,” Joan whispered over the clamor of the hallway they stepped into.

\------

That afternoon, when they were both on lunch break, Mr. Stephens and Miss Aragon chatted over peppermint tea and sandwiches.

“Did you hear the news?” Stephens said, stirring his glass with a small spoon he always seemed to have on him. It made him look like a man bun-rocking, flannel-clad Victorian diplomat. “Anna von Cleves is taking Joan Seymour to prom.”

Aragon spit out her tea.

Stephens smiled apologetically. “My thoughts exactly.” He offered her a napkin. She took it gratefully.

“How do you know?” Aragon asked, her voice slightly muffled as she wiped her mouth.

“My kids love to tell me things,” Stephens answered. “Anna told me after class. Quite proudly, I should add. Like she just adopted a dog that was about to be put down.”

“Hm.” Unease crept into Aragon’s gaze. She quickly toweled off her pants, which were luckily black, so hopefully the stains wouldn’t appear. “I don’t-- I mean, I’m happy for her. For Joan. This could be really good for her.” She almost squirmed. “But--”

“It doesn’t feel right?” Stephens guessed. 

Aragon nodded. “Yeah. Joan--she doesn’t seem like the kind of person Anna von Cleves would take to prom.” She blew off her tea with a long face, then snapped her gaze back up. “Isn’t she dating someone? That Howard girl?”

“Anna said she didn’t want to go.” Stephens said.

“Hmm.” Aragon hummed again. Suspicion was starting to overtake her gaze. Stephens caught it and tilted his head curiously.

“Do you think they’re up to something?” He asked. “Anna seemed pretty sincere when she told me.”

“She might have been put up to it.” Aragon said. “Even though I thought Katherine truly was sorry for what she did…”

“You never know, Catalina,” Stephens said. “Maybe Anna really did mean it. She really does want to take Joan Seymour to prom.” He tipped his head at her, smiling. “You like that girl a lot, don’t you?”

Aragon was not embarrassed or ruffled, rather proud. Stephens liked that she was.

“She’s a sweet little girl,” Aragon said. “So sad, but there’s so much hope inside of her.” She took a sip of her tea. “I don’t think she knows that, though. She thinks that there’s nothing left for her.”

Stephens frowned. He remembered all the depressing, dark writing projects and essays he got from Joan Seymour in class and didn’t doubt what the gym teacher said. It was rare that he got something happier.

“I wish that Jane lady--hadn’t been her mother--crazy old woman doesn’t deserve such a wonderful child.”

Stephens looked up from his cup. “What was that?”

Aragon shook her head. “Nothing.”

She stood up, quickly finishing her tea. It burned down her throat, but she didn’t appear to care. Stephens couldn’t see a spot on her black track pants.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“To get to the bottom of this.” She answered.

She marched out of the room with purpose in her step. Stephens watched her go, then chuckled and shook his head.

“She wants to be that girl’s mother.” He said to his cup of tea.

\------

Aragon pulled Katherine Howard and Anna von Cleves out of their fifth period classes--astrology and equine science respectively--under the guise of a “mandatory health check.” They were visibly confused, as well as a bit nervous, but didn’t ask questions as she led them back down to the gym. Not even Anna, who didn’t even take gym class.

Her office smelled like roasted nuts when they entered. A mini fridge hummed peacefully behind her tidy desk, and various medals and trophies winked at the two students from a bookshelf that had more trinkets and personal belongings on it than actual books. Aragon waved Katherine and Anna to sit at the grey couch against the wall while she pulled up her black computer chair in front of them.

There was a long pause of silence between the three of them. Anna was doing her best not to look at the coach, instead studying the medals hanging up, while Katherine was making direct eye contact, her gaze almost challenging. After a moment, Aragon blew out a breath and leaned back in her chair.

“I heard you’re taking Joan Seymour to prom.” She said, not quite speaking to Anna, but rather to both of them.

“Oh! Yes--”

“Yes, she is.” Katherine said, partially cutting off her girlfriend. She seemed to have known what this “mandatory health check” was about since the moment she was pulled out of class.

“Why?” Aragon asked. “What could you possibly have in mind?”

“I thought it would be good for her.” Katherine said. “To get her to join things and be a part of things.” She paused. “With all due respect, ma’am, but this has nothing to do with you.”

“Excuse me?” Aragon snapped.

Anna set a calming hand on Katherine’s shoulder, but the girl still said, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is a very big deal for Joan!” Aragon said, raising her voice. Anger flickered like flames in her eyes, but she does her best to quell them for now. She took a deep breath. “I don’t want her to get her heart broken.”

“She won’t.” Anna said, and Aragon wished she could believe her. “I’ll treat her really good, I promise. I am very gentle.”

“She is,” Katherine nodded.

“Just--not like that--” Anna went on, fumbling. “You know-- I’m not going to--but I would be gentle if she were wanting to--not that I would because I’m eighteen and I have a girlfriend, but--”

“Anna.” 

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Anna dipped her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Katherine sighed. “Miss Aragon, I really do want Joan to have a good time at her prom. She deserves a little fun in her life, don’t you think?”

Aragon hesitated. As suspicious as this all seemed, going to prom could be really good for Joan. It may help her open up a little more and even make a few friends, which she really wanted for the girl.

“Yes,” She said slowly. “I do.”

“Then just trust us.” Katherine said. “Please.”

Aragon studied the teenagers for a long time, searching for a shred of ill intent in their eyes and finding nothing, then blew out a long breath.

“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

Anna and Katherine stood up to get back to their class. Aragon called out to them on their way out, and they stopped to look back at her. Her voice was a cold as a jagged iceberg in the Arctic ocean.

“Listen to me and listen to me good. If either one of you hurt Joan in any way, you will have me to answer to.”

\------

_Flex_

She sat in the small Boston rocking chair she had bought with her own money when she was thirteen. Sweat soaked her pale face, running down porcelain skin in stinging, salty trails. Her eyes, glazed and narrowed, never left the hairbrush sitting on the small desk in front of her.

_Flex_

The hairbrush moved.

Something strange was going on deep within her. Respiratory had dropped to 6 breaths per minute. Blood pressure was up to 190/100. Heartbeat thumping at 140 beats per minute. Temperature down to 93°. Muscles and tendons tightened. Immune system kicked into overdrive, white blood cells being produced faster, lymph nodes swelling up in response to an infection that wasn’t there. Her body was burning energy she didn’t have. When she would check her weight later that night, she would find that she had lost ten pounds in one day.

_Flex_

141, 142, 143, 144, 145… Her heart rate was speeding up to a highly abnormal and normally very dangerous pace.

But...this wasn’t very dangerous, was it? 

It was...natural.

_Flex_

Joan could remember the first time she felt this way. It had started with a similar intense stress like the one she felt in the showers when she got her first period, and then was followed by her body functions changing in a way she couldn’t understand at the young age of seven.

Mama was there when it happened. Mama was

( _ **you lustful little imp you naughty girl why would you look**_

_i’m sorry Mama i’m sorry i didn’t mean to_ )

mad. Joan had snuck over to the neighbor’s yard, where the teenage daughter, Julia Winterfield, was sunbathing with her top off. She pointed to her breasts and asked what they were, and Julia had told her in amusement.

( _i wish i had some_

**you will one day when you’re older, and i’ll bet they’ll be real pretty, too**

_no i won’t Mama says good girls don’t_

**she said what**

_she said she was bad when she made me… that’s why she has them… calls them dirty pillows_

**you mother’s like a total hypocrite she’s like a C-cup** )

And then Mama had caught her, furious and sickened, and took Joan back inside.

The little girl she used to be, the poor little girl, screamed like she was being gutted alive, and everyone down the street

( _Mama Mama stop stop it Mama i’m sorry i’m sorry i looked_

_**dirty little girl you whore you lust-filled dog**_ )

could hear it.

There were fingers around her throat, she remembered the skeleton fingers. Mama’s big thumbs pressing down on her little airways, choking her, strangling her, suffocating her. She tried to fight, 

( _Ma-ma, s-top-- can’t b-reathe-- M-ama-- my throat oh Mama my throat-- blood--on my tongue-- Mama Mama Mama_ )

tried to get away, but Mama was much too strong for her tiny body. 

Mama throttled and wrung her neck like a little bird’s, listening to the brilliant sound of her nerves crackling and bones cracking and collarbone chipping away at the pressure. At the time, she didn’t know that the only thing that had saved her from a broken neck was her own powers telekinetically holding her spinal cord firmly in place.

She hadn’t felt the flex then. Mama on top of her distracted her from the sensation of her gift.

( _o slut little slut you have to be punished for your lust filled thoughts_ )

Mama got off of her, and Joan lay broken on the floor, swollen blue tongue lolling out of her mouth, throat inflamed with black bruises, blood in her eyes from asphyxiation. She was sprawled like a calf cut down from a hook in the slaughterhouse, gurgling on her metallic blood, drooling and frothing all over the living room carpet. She wasn’t breathing, not really, not on her own, it hurt too much to do so, so her powers grasped the air around her and pulled it into her lungs so she wouldn’t suffocate. The gifts worked her heart, keeping it thumping in a steady rhythm as it flexed her larynx to deliver the much-need oxygen.

( _ **Mama Mama Mama help i can’t breathe Mama my chest it hurts it hurts Mama my eyes there’s blood in my eyes**_ )

Then, Mama was there again, wielding a giant butcher’s knife and a Bible. Her eyes were lit up with a sick, diseased light, drool on her chin, panting like a rabid dog. She hobbled to Joan,

( ** _o you wicked slut o you slut i’ll cut it out i’ll cut it out and you’ll never see that vile nakedness again_** )

squawking words so slurred Joan could barely understand them. She mounted that poor little girl, who barely breathed below her and stared up at her with blood-filled eyes.

( ** _those eyes those eyes those wicked blue eyes look at the blood in them the blood the blood the blood brings sin_** )

Joan foamed and burbled at the mouth, bruised throat aching, deprived lungs burning, telekinetic powers shifting. She wept and wailed and pleaded,

( _o Mama stop please Mama i didn’t mean to Mama please stop it hurts Mama it hurts why don’t you CARE_ )

but Mama did not stop, Mama stabbed and gouged and skewered her

( _ **eyes those eyes i need to cut out those eyes and that tongue too that tongue has tasted sin i will remove that sinful nastiness from you my sweet little slut**_ )

sin, Mama cut and sliced away her

( _throat my throat o Mama my throat it hurts so much make it stop Mama it hurts too much_ )

evilness.

And then, there was a _flex_ and a **_fission_** and something came down against the house.

The Rain Of Stones began and Mama began to scream. She dropped the Bible and the knife

( _yes yes good no more hurt Mama i am not bad_ )

and stumbled backwards, shrieking in terror, in a way Joan had never heard before. She dropped to her knees, still drooling all over herself like an insane hellhound, and began to pray furiously while the house was stormed with burning rocks from the heavens around her. Holes in the porch, craters in the lawn, scorch marks in the shingles, flickers of weak ethereal flames on the outer walls. 

Destruction.

Pure destruction.

( ** _it’s you you little witch imp demon devil spawn this is YOU_** )

And then, Mama fainted. Joan fainted, too. And when she woke up, everything was as it should be, the knife back in the kitchen, the Bible back on the table, the blood wiped from the floor. Mama dressed the giant black and blue bruises on her neck, and Joan did not ask how she got them. Mama made a makeshift sling for the broken collarbone she didn’t even realize she had, and she didn’t ask about how she got that, either. They didn’t talk about it, didn’t fill the crates in the yard, didn’t repair the holes in the porch, and it was forgotten little by little.

Until now, of course, because Joan finally recognized this feeling within her.

_Flex_

The brush slid off the desk and clattered to the floor.

“Joan! Dinner!”

“Thank you, Mama!” Joan called back, and she hoped Mama couldn’t hear the quaking in her voice.

She stood up, feeling her muscles and tendons tingle at the loss of tension in her limbs, and picked up the brush, setting it in its original spot. Her body functions slowly returned to normal, heartbeat slowing down, blood pressure lowering, breathing evening out, temperature rising. The only thing that stayed at a peak were her nerves, which sent waves of anxiety washing through her as she walked downstairs.

Mama was in the dining room setting the table. Her dark blue dress swished around her ankles as she moved around the corners to place plates and a tray of chicken pot pie that smelled wonderful. Joan’s stomach growled softly; it’s been awhile since she’s eaten a full meal, but she didn’t feel up to eating anything right now. She was much too nervous.

“Joan, my darling?” Mama said. “Can you go finish the tea for me, please? The water should be already boiling.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Joan walked into the kitchen, where the tea kettle whistled and WORT played a slow Christian song from the radio. With clockwork precision, she swept by the stove, picked up the kettle, and deposited just the right amount of boiling water into each teacup sitting on the counter. As she left tea bags to dissolve inside, she lifted the lid of the sugar bowl and picked up two cubes, placing both in her own cup when she was sure that Mama wasn’t looking. Then, she removed the bags once they were finished their process of flavoring and carefully took the tea cups over to the table.

“Thank you, precious.” Mama said, smiling lovingly, and Joan felt her heart flutter.

“You’re welcome, Mama.” She paused for a moment. “Mama?”

“Yes?” Mama looked over to her.

“Can I--” Joan fumbled. “--light the fireplace?”

“Of course,” Mama nodded.

( _i’m not scared not stalling not scared of Mama_ )

Joan threw some logs into the fireplace and lit golden flames upon them. She stared into the growing mass of fire for a long time until Mama called her to come eat.

( _have to i have to_ )

They both sat at the table, prayed, and then began to eat.

But Joan couldn’t eat. Her stomach ached for food, but she was far too nervous to take a bite out of her chicken pot pie, afraid she might throw it right back up.

Well, at least that would get her out of telling Mama…

No. She had to.

But it was just _so hard_. Every time she made a move to bring up the prom, Mama spoke again, and she thanked and hated her for it.

Thunder rumbled deeply and rain began to patter against the roof, then the windows. A streak of lightning leaked in through the curtains, illuminating Jesus’s scornful stone face on the crucifix above the table. Joan swallowed thickly, trying not to imagine him telling how sinful she was, how horrible she was, how she would be going to hell for even thinking about going to the vile Spring Ball.

“I don’t know what you’ve been dreaming about tonight, Joan,” Mama said. “You’ve hardly touched your pie.”

Joan looked down at her plate, which is covered in the gore of her skewered dinner. Mushed peas and shredded chicken mixed together like lumpy green and white organs on the platter.

“It makes me have pimples, Mama,” Joan mumbled bitterly, stabbing apart a piece of crust with her fork.

“Just the Lord’s way of chastising you.” Mama said dismissively.

Joan nodded, although she didn’t believe it. She swallowed hard again, feeling her nerves well up in her throat until she felt like she was drowning in her own anxiety. She looked back up at Jesus, and he looked even more resentful of her than ever.

“Mama, don’t you think it’s time I start acting like other kids?” She said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Mama asked.

“At school--kids make fun of me and call me names…” 

“Well, then don’t listen to them.” Mama merely said.

Joan closed her eyes, dipping her head like she was praying to God for the strength to explain. Instead, she could feel tears forming, pricking painfully like hot needles. She sniffled softly, and Mama glanced at her curiously. 

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

She plunged into the depths of her anxiety and anticipation.

“I got invited to the prom.”

Instant relief washed over her, the heavy weight on her chest lifting and allowing her to breathe, and she even let herself smile slightly at the memory of Anna asking her that morning. It seemed more and more magical the more she played it over in her head. It slowly became real each time it looped over, and she could feel giddy, childlike glee bubbling up inside of her when she imagined herself on Anna von Cleves’s arm at prom.

And then she looked at Mama’s face, and all her worry came crashing back down on top of her.

Mama did not look happy or excited for her at all. Mama looked angry and scared and concerned and disappointed all at once. Mama had wide are-you-serious eyes. Mama had “no” sitting on her tongue. Mama looked like she already hated her date.

“Her name is Anna von Cleves…” Joan said cautiously. “Sh-she’s a very nice girl. She can c-come in and meet you.”

“No.”

There it was.

Joan closed her eyes for a moment, trying to take deep breaths. Her voice was quivering even more when she spoke up again.

“I’ll tell her to have me home by eleven…”

“No. No. No.”

Joan flinched, as if Mama’s words had taken the physical form of a mallet and beat her over the head each time it was repeated. She bit down on her bottom lip until she tasted blood and then choked out in a tight, barely-contained sob, “I’ve already accepted.”

Mama pressed her tongue into the inside of her lip, taking a long, slow sip of her tea. Joan watched her, exhaling a shaking breath that released another sob with it.

“I have to try and get along with people, Mama,” She whimpered out. “I’m not like you. I-I’m weird. I mean, everybody thinks I’m weird, and I don’t want to be. I want to try and be normal…”

Mama lurched forward and threw her tea into Joan’s face.

Joan shut up instantly, only letting a gasp of pain escape her lips. She clawed for a napkin, scrubbing off the hot, sticky liquid that smelled like peppermint, and prayed that burns wouldn’t be left behind.

“You’re not going.” Mama said firmly. “It’s evil and it’s a sin.”

“Everything isn’t bad, Mama!” Joan cried. “Everything’s not a sin!”

“You lust-filled fool,” Mama said lowly. “This partner you’re going with--is a _woman_.”

Joan flinched at the disgust in her words. She had been so worried about simply telling Mama about the prom that she hadn’t even considered how she would react to her going with another girl.”

“Don’t you know what the Bible says about your attraction?” Mama said, and then began to recite without even opening the Bible on the table, disdain oozing in between her words, “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination. (Leviticus 18:22) If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them. (Leviticus 20:13).”

“B-but I’m not a man, Mama,” Joan stammered. “Maybe it doesn’t count?”

Mama barked a harsh laugh. “Do you not remember the way you stared at that girl next door?” She said. It’s the first time in eight years that either of them brought up the incident leading up to The Rain Of Stones. “I should have known you would grow up to be like THAT, you vile little, woman-loving whore!”

“But Mama!” Joan grabbed the Bible from off of the tabletop and began frantically flipping through the pages. “I-it says here, _‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.’_ (John 3:16) ‘The world’ means everyone, Mama! Even gay people!”

Mama picked up her tea cup and smashed it over Joan’s head.

With a muted cry of pain, Joan’s body crumpled and folded, teetering off of the chair and to the ground. The Bible thumped down beside her, and Mama snatched it up, checking it for any damage, like she thought Joan may taint it with her touch. Joan groaned weakly, her head spinning and throbbing.

“Mama--”

Mama’s foot connected with Joan’s bottom jaw with a sickening crunch. Joan saw stars and tasted blood, and she thought she may have blacked out for a few seconds because her eyes open but she does not remember ever closing them. She moaned weakly.

“You abomination,” Mama hissed.

“Mama, please listen--” Joan choked out, holding her shaking hands up. “I-I don’t like Anna like that, I promise! Sh-she’s just taking me for fun!”

“So would you rather go with a man?” Mama asked, and didn't give Joan a chance to reply. “Don’t you know what men do?”

Joan was quiet. Blood pooled beneath her tongue. Mama crouched in front of her.

“First the blood comes,” Mama whispered, “and then the boys.” She pressed down on Joan’s shoulders, pinning her to the ground. “Yes, the boys come like sniffing dogs! Grinning and slobbering all over you, trying to find where that sweet smell comes from!”

Then, her lips were on Joan’s neck, sucking and nipping. Joan squealed loudly, flailing her limbs.

“M-Mama!” She squeaked. “S-stop it!”

Mama didn’t stop. She kissed all over Joan’s throat, then her collarbone, then her chest. Her hands, hooked into claws, scratched at Joan’s belly and thighs, like she was trying to find an entrance to her young daughter’s sensitive flesh. She fervently began working away the button’s on Joan’s shirt.

“Mama, stop!!” Joan yelled, shoving her mother back. She twisted around and tried to crawl away, but Mama grappled her by the legs and pressed her down on her stomach. 

“This is what your father did to me,” Mama whispered in her ear. Her breath was hot and ragged and smelled like peppermint. “Don’t you want to know how you were born, Johanna? Don’t you want to be marked just like your mommy?”

Joan was frozen in abject horror for a tense moment, then regained squirming. She dug her fingers into the grooves in the old wooden floors and tried to wiggle her way out from under her mother’s grasp, but Mama was strong, her arms were muscled from the laundromat, and she was held in place.

“No, Mama! No, Mama!” Joan cried. She knew Mama could smell the stink of fear on her.

“Oh, how your father whispered in my ear,” Mama babbled on, her voice high with madness and lust. “We pressed so close on Friday nights, kneeling, praying together…”

Joan cringed. She pushed herself up to her elbows, and Mama’s arm slithered around her, fingernails raking down her left breast. She squealed again.

“Mama, stop it, please! You’re--you’re scaring me!” 

“I was scared, too, precious,” Mama murmured. “But that is the price we must pay. And it’s your turn now.”

Tears burst from Joan’s eyes and she began to cry.

“I don’t want this, Mama!” She wept. “Please, please stop!”

Mama gazed down at Joan, caressing her thighs in firm strokes. “You don’t like it?” She asked.

“No,” Joan shook her head furiously. “No, Mama, I don’t like it. Please stop, Mama!”

“This is what the boys do to you, Johanna.” Mama said. “When they find that smell, the blood, they go crazy. They love the blood, Johanna.”

“Okay, Mama,” Joan stammered, wheezing. Her lungs were starting to constrict with hot iron bands- she couldn’t breathe. “Okay, okay--”

“You father took me and touched me so much,” Mama went on. “I tried to fight him, just like you are. But he was too much for me. He made me feel too good.” She chuckled, a deep, guttural sound. 

“M-Mama--” Joan gasped below her, her head flopping to the side. Her eyes were clouded and glazed over in terror. “M-Mama, I-I can’t b-breathe--”

Mama either ignored her or didn't hear her because she kept speaking, “Satan gave your father sin. Sin I loved and wanted and took inside me.” She rubbed Joan’s sides, groping and pinching. “And from that sin, you were born. Oh...how did I have such a pretty little daughter…” She kissed Joan’s delicate throat, earning a keen of fright and discomfort.

“Mama--” Joan sobbed. “M-Mama, p-please-- I-I can’t--”

Mama sat back up. She manhandled Joan until she was on her back and began scratching at her belly again, pulling hungrily on the buttons of her shirt. Then, she leaned forward and began nipping on and whispering into Joan’s ear.

“You tell that girl you aren’t going,” She said. “She nor any man deserves your love like I do. It’s mine and mine to have.” Her tongue flicked Joan’s flesh, making her shudder in disgust. “ _You are mine_.”

Joan felt like she was paralyzed for a brief, horrifying moment, unable to move or breathe or speak.

And then all the feeling in her body came rushing back to her in one huge tidal wave and she shoved as hard as she could against Mama. 

Mama was slightly shocked, blinking like she was in a daze, and then narrowed her eyes into a dangerous glare. She grabbed Joan by the shirt as she was scrambling up to her feet, tearing off the buttons and ripping it open. Joan collapsed, yanked to the ground, and cracked her already-aching jaw against the hardwood floor. Blood filled her mouth again. She moaned weakly, pain invading all her senses. Mama watched on with disgust, the lust in her eyes receding behind the repulse--for now.

“Oh, Mama, please stop!” Joan begged through sobs. 

“Go to your closet.” Mama said coldly. “Go to your closet and pray.”

“No!” Joan cried.

“You’re not going and that is final.” Mama said. “Now go to your closet!”

“No, Mama!” Joan shouted back at her. “I’m not going in the closet!”

Mama growled lowly, like an angered wild animal, and advanced on Joan with her arms outstretched and her hands like claws.

“You’re going to get in there and pray for forgiveness, little girl!”

“No, Mama! D-don’t touch me! NO!!”

_Flex_

_Flex_

**_Fission_ **

Mama froze. Her hands--her _claws_ \--were mere inches from Joan’s body, so ready to seize her and drag her and touch her some more. But they did not. They didn’t move. And Mama stared at them in horror, like she was watching each finger get chopped off one by one.

Her tea cup’s platter flew from the table and shattered against the wall.

Mama jerked backward with a shout, free from the invisible grip. She gaped down at her daughter looking back up at her with the same stunned expression as her, but with the eyes of her father. She clenched her jaw and whirled around to leave the room and retrieve a tool to punish her demon of a child with.

“Mama!” Joan cried after her. “Mama, please sit down and talk with me!!”

The dinner table flipped over and slammed into the corridor connecting to the kitchen, blocking Mama’s path. 

Mama whirled around to stare at Joan again. Her daughter was still on the floor, shaking, shirt hanging open and revealing the expanse of scarred, bruised, and cut up flesh that was her stomach. Angry red scratches stretched down her flesh from when she had been clawing at her, and a small spot of blood was growing on the left cup of her skin colored bra. Her eyes were shiny and blank.

“I’m not done talking yet.” Joan said.

Mama marched for the other hallway and fire from the fireplace came roaring down at her. She barely leapt away in time before she was scorched. The flaming serpent hissed triumphantly as it maneuvered gracefully in the air. Joan stood up slowly, leaning against her chair for support because of her injuries, and the fire coiled around her, not quite touching her enough to burn her, but its heat was still intense and comforting.

“Please--sit--and talk with me.” Joan forced out, her words greatly punctuated from her trembling.

Mama doesn’t say anything. The snake grew restless and snapped burgeoning jaws in the air. Its tail lashed, sending embers flying throughout the air. Joan caught them before they could ignite the carpet and wooden floor and sent them spinning slowly on an axis around her.

“I want to start living my own life now,” Joan said. “I don’t like yours.”

The reflection of the fire twinkled in Mama’s wide brown eyes. Joan waited with her serpent, breathing faintly. Her heart thumped very slowly inside her chest, temperature slowly dropping even with the heat of the flames so close to her body.

“Witch,” Mama spat. She pressed herself against the wall, almost cowering. The snake hissed in response, tendrils of smoke wreathing around its narrow head.

“I’m not a witch.” Joan snapped shakily. “I just-- Sometimes--I can move things.”

“I should have known when you let the stones come,” Mama said. She slowly sunk to the ground. “Sin never dies…” She clasped her hands together and began to pray maniacally, rocking back and forth on her knees. “Devil’s child, devil’s child, Satan’s spawn--”

“Mama, stop it.” Joan said through her teeth.

“Lust and licentiousness, the cravings of the flesh--”

“MAMA!!” Joan yelled, and the serpent’s body flared, growing bigger. Gritting her teeth, she just barely glanced to the side and the snake gently, casually, flicked its tail and one of the curtains burst into flames behind her.

She looked into her mother’s eyes, smothering the fire with her power before it could spread, and said, “Oops.”

“The devil’s got her now…” Mama whispered.

“It’s not the devil, Mama.” Joan said. “There are other people out there who can do what I can do.”

“You poor child,” Mama continued to babble, her eyes rolling in her skull. “Don’t you know, don’t you know--”

“Mama, it’s inherited.” Joan spoke over her. “It was passed down from grandma and it skipped you, you--you _know that_.”

“No, no--”

Joan tilted her head slowly, and the flickering golden shapes of the fire cast flaming wings behind her.

“Maybe it came from Daddy?”

“He gave me cancer,” Mama choked out. “I thought you were cancer.”

Joan’s eyes widened and the snake lashed its tail furiously with her disbelief and shock and disgust. It seethed, slithering slowly around her torso, in between her legs, through her arms, and then back around her neck again, never breaking its gaze away Mama for even a moment. There were two pieces of coal in the place of eyes in its flaming skull.

“Don’t say that, Mama!” Joan yelled. “That’s awful!”

Mama said nothing. She doesn’t even pray. The serpent flicked its tongue at her, pleased.

“Things are going to change around here, Mama.” Joan said, her voice draining. “I have--nothing left to lose.” She choked a tight, painful laugh and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I have power I can use now.” She lifted one hand and the snake smoothly leaned into, her telekinesis safely pushing the fire away from her flesh so she wouldn’t be burned. “There’s nothing you can say or do that will ever stop me again.”

Mama stared at her with bulging eyes, realizing that it was true.

“That girl,” She said softly. “She’s like all the rest, Joan.”

“I don’t-- _care_.” Joan said. “I’m going and you can’t stop me.”

Lightning flashed and the fire roared. The serpent whirled away from Joan and coiled up in the air, its body flickering. Items within the house were pulled to it like a magnet’s charge, crushing its flames but building its body up bigger. Mama watched on it terror, while Joan just smiled weakly, wryly. 

Her power was otherworldly.

The snake, its form plated with scales made of crucifixes, rose up above Mama, rattling the giant butcher’s knife (the one she tried to cut out Joan’s eyes with on The Rain Of Stones) at the tip of its tail against the wall threateningly. When it creaked open its jaws, the radio from the kitchen at the back of its throat hissed loudly. Shifting pieces of broken glass form two large porcelain eyes that bore straight into Mama’s soul.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Joan whispered.

She glided past Mama and into the kitchen, feeling like a passenger in her own body. Mama tried to move, maybe to go after her, but the snake hissed static and then began to speak, its voice changing with every twist of the radio dial.

“ _Don’t. Move. Ma. Ma._ ”

Mama gasped softly and then began to weep in terror. Joan grit her teeth and had the snake rattle its tail again to quiet her down.

“ _Shut. Up. Woman._ ”

Joan retrieved a slice of chicken pot pie from the kitchen and returned to the dining room, resettling the table and silverware back into place. She sat down in her chair and merely twitched her head, calling the snake over. It hissed distorted static at Mama one last time before slithering over and coiling around the table, setting its large head beside Joan. Joan patted its snout, then shot a sharp look at her mother.

“I love you, Mama.”

Mama fled the room without saying it back. Joan heard her scramble up the staircase loudly and shut herself in her room. Her Mama began to pray loudly.

“I think…” She said to the snake, and it tipped its head to let her know it was listening, even without ears. “I think I’ll make my dress.”

“ _Good_.” Said the snake in a slightly staticky Southern accent from a country station. Joan giggled at how funny it sounded.

“Do you think Anna will like pink?” She asked it.

“ _Pink. Is. Good._ ” It replied.

Joan knew she was the one controlling it, that she was the one giving it life and voice, but, deep down, she liked to think that it truly was alive and animated all on its own. That it was a creature built to protect and be there for her. That it was a friend.

“Pink it is, then!” She smiled.

Upstairs, Mama loudly wailed the Prayer of Exorcism from Deuteronomy. Joan sent her powers up to her mother’s room and threw around a few items to shut her up, but that only succeeded in making Mama screech and pray even louder. Joan sighed and took a big bite out of her chicken pot pie. She was so hungry.

“I think you will be my crucible,” She told the serpent. She bent over and bumped her head with its wooden one. “And I will call you Judgement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and THAT is why this fic is called "The Crucible"!


	6. Something's In The Air

“I’m impressed, Thomas. I am impressed.” **  
**

Brown, oily bangs gently hung over a craggy, charming face. Round green eyes, set lightly within their sockets, watch the detective closely. A knife left a mark reaching from the top of the right cheek, running towards his upper lip and ending on his forehead, leaving a permanent memory of mischief on nineteen year old Thomas Culpeper’s face.

“Four counts of possession, one with the intent to sell. Vandalism, disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly.” Mulaney read off from the folder with information on the newest victim of interrogation. “Boy, your parents must be awfully proud of you.”

“My parents died when I was six.” Thomas spat.

Mulaney stared at him in horror. Thomas huffed out a breath and leaned back in his chair, glaring sharply.

“Not so funny now, is it?”

“Well, it sure is funny odd,” Mulaney said, “because I just talked to Constance and Alexander not an hour ago, both very much alive and very concerned.”

Thomas growled softly and looked away.

“Thomas, do you ever pal around with a girl named Anne Boleyn?” Mulaney asked.

“She’s a distant cousin,” Thomas answered gruffly. “We sometimes hung out.”

“What about Catherine Parr?”

Thomas shook his head.

“Katherine Howard?”

Nothing.

Mulaney walked around the table and over to his side, opening the folder in his hands again. “Hey, have you ever been to Irwin Henty’s pig farm up north?” 

“No.” Thomas muttered.

“You’ve never been up there?” Mulaney humored him. “Well, see, Henry had no security system, so people were knocking fences down and stealing hogs and all kinds of things!” He laughed. Thomas was sweating.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Mulaney said. “So what do you think he does?” He doesn’t wait for an answer- not that Thomas’s pallor makes him look up to even giving one. “He installs one of those expensive, high-tech security systems. Oh, man, he’s even got one of those really cool cameras that take pictures in the dark! Doggone it, they look like they were taken in broad daylight!”

He slipped out some green photos taken with a night vision camera and slid them over to Thomas.

“Look at this. Look at the detail on that!” Mulaney went on, pointing to the clear image of Thomas, Cathy, Anne, Maggie, Maggie’s boyfriend, and another kid named Thomas Cromwell sneaking into Old Man Henty’s pigpen. “You can just about count the hairs on that pig’s snout, can’t you?” He showed a photo of a closeup of Thomas's face. “I thought this one was particularly good of you.”

Thomas looked away, biting his lip.

“Of course, here’s another one of all six of you. Looking pretty chummy!” Mulaney said with a slight laugh. “Say, how come there’s no pictures of Katherine? Was she waiting in the truck?”

“How should I know?” Thomas asked softly. “She wasn’t even there…”

Mulaney furrowed his eyebrows, exchanging a quick glance with Madeline. He sat back down across from Thomas.

“Well, it was to my understanding that Katherine and Anne planned the whole thing.”

Thomas scoffed lightly. “Dude,” He said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

* * *

\------

The gym early Thursday morning was flurry of activity as kids moved to and fro to get ready for the prom in two days. Paints splattered, ribbons unraveled, fairy lights flickered, and everyone acted as if it were the end of the world if even the slightest decoration was off. Watching it was entertaining, but now that she was actually a part of the decoration committee, Katherine could see why it was so stressful.

Since she wouldn’t be going to prom, Katherine had decided the least she could do was help set up for it. Their theme that year was Springtime in Greece (whose idea was it to have themes for prom, Katherine wondered), so huge murals of Greek temples were drawn by the art kids on giant canvases and were currently being painted by several other volunteers. The stage, where the band would play and prom king and queen would be announced, was being set up in a way that made it look like the ancient Parthenon, fit with grooved columns, dressings of leaves and flowers, and swathes of white and gold silk. Sculptures were being carved away by extremely focused students, whittling the plaster or rock or ice away into the distinct shape of hands and heads and legs. Katherine walked over to one of them, Maria, who was sweating buckets trying to get what seemed to be a wave to look just right.

“I can’t believe--they’re only giving us--two days,” She grunted, not looking over at Katherine, but hearing her coming over.

“Can you finish it?” Katherine asked. She circled around one of the decorative pillars sitting around and began to smooth down the grooves.

“Yeah,” Maria nodded. “But it’s still STRESSFUL.”

“What even is it?” 

Maria frowned at her, then looked back at her sculpture. “It’s a tidal wave of human hopes and dreams. I will be filling it with pieces of writing once it’s done.”

“And what does that have to do with Greece?”

Maria ruffled. “It could fit!” She barked. “Why are you slaving yourself in here, anyway? You’re not even--...” She trailed off, clearly still upset about the news.

“Going?” Katherine finished for her. She shrugged. “I still want it to look nice. And it looks like you guys can use all the help you can get.” She nodded at a puny red haired Year 10 kid wrestling with coils of ivy and vines on the stage and losing the battle. Bessie, head of the Decoration Committee, watched on with a dismayed expression.

“Can I ask about it?” Maria asked softly.

“Sure,” Katherine said, then laughed slightly. “You don’t have to whisper, Mars. It’s not some big secret.”

“Well, thank god,” Maria said. “Because EVERYONE is talking!”

Katherine quirked an eyebrow with a light snort. “Oh, really? What are they saying?”

“That you and Joan Seymour are having a lesbian affair, and you’re having Anna take her to prom to throw people off,” Maria said languidly. Katherine leaned over to a nearby canister of paint and flicked the paintbrush at her face for that. She sputtered, scrubbing viciously and leaving light purple streaks all over her dark skin. “Okay, okay-- I deserved that.”

“Well, you’re right…” Katherine sighed. “It’s just that--Joan satisfies me in a way no other woman or man possibly could.” She finished her sentence with a lewd touch to her breasts; a Year 11 girl that was helping paint the mural looked over at that moment and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Katherine dropped her hands quickly, and Maria burst into laughter.

“Oh, I bet!” Maria said. “Does she use her crosses as a dildo? Because I bet Jesus’s face feels GREAT against your clit!”

Katherine flicked more paint, this time orange, into Maria’s face. Once again, Maria spluttered and clawed at the colorful tears rolling down her skin. Katherine peered at her thoughtfully.

“Orange really is your color,” She observed.

“Just like how Christian semen white is yours.” Maria replied.

Katherine rolled her eyes and nudged Maria’s side with her foot, earning her a cheeky, paint-splattered grin. 

“I just feel bad about what happened,” She said. “I’m hoping it’ll bring her out of her shell a little, you know? Knock down some of those walls she has up. It’s the least I could do after what happened in the showers.”

“Great! So you’re a saint and we’re all bitches!” Maria said.

“Pretty much!”

They both laughed.

“I can’t believe Anna’s going along with it,” Maria went on. “She really wanted to bring you.”

“Well, she’s been very agreeable since we started having sex.” Katherine stated bluntly.

“Ooh!” Maria cooed. “You go girl!”

Katherine was about to reply when a momentary hush fell over the gym. She turned to see her cousin walking in, back to school after her three day suspension, her head held high. She glared sharply at a Year 10 boy dripping yellow paint all over his hands, and he nearly keeled over dead instantly. Katherine looked away quickly, not wanting to face Anna after their falling out at the pub. Her words began to echo in her ears again.

_“That’s why you had this bullshit change of heart. You don’t give a shit about Joan Seymour, and everybody knows it…”_

She stamped them down and silenced them.

“Has Anne said anything?” Katherine asked Maria.

Maria thought for a moment. “Only that she hates your guts.”

“Ah,” Katherine said, not surprised. “Think she might try something?”

Maria tilted her head at her. “I don’t know.”

A whirlwind of thick brown hair and green polo shirt whizzed by- Maggie scuttled over to Anne, eyes wide, clutching a dark brown folder in her arms. Katherine turned her attention to the pillar she was sanding down, so she didn’t see the way her cousin was pulled to the side and out of sight behind the mural.

“Got your 999,” Anne said, holding up her phone. “Ever so dramatic.”

“Let me reiterate-” Maggie said. “Oh my god!”

“What?” Anne asked, amused. She could see the mischievous light in Maggie’s eyes, and that filled her with a deadly thrill.

Maggie pulled a small slip of paper out of the folder and waved it in the air. 

“This,” She declared, “is the ballot for prom king and queen!”

“What?” Anne’s eyes widened in interest. “Let me see!”

Maggie handed Anne the piece of paper and they began to read from it, nitpicking all the choices.

“Jackson and Georgie,” Anne said. “No way, Jackson’s in marching band.”

“Ruby and Leila,” Maggie read next. Their school was very open to LGBTQ+ relationships, so it wasn’t a surprise that a lesbian couple was a choice for prom king and queen.

“Maybe. Everybody likes them.” Anne said. “Miller and Jessie, no. Ren and Alex, maybe. Anna and--”

Her eyes go wide.

Right beside Anna von Cleves’s name was her cousin's name--but scratched out and replaced with “Joan” over the top. Greedy intensity began to bubble up inside of her. She giggled darkly.

“Anna and Joan!” She exclaimed.

“I know!” Maggie agreed enthusiastically. “What are you gonna do?”

A twisted grin curled on Anne’s ruby red lips like a bloody smile.

“Give everyone a night they’ll never forget.”

\------

First period with Anne back was...awkward, to say the least. Maggie talked to Anne as she always did, being the loyal little imp that she was, but everyone else was slightly unnerved by the smirk that never disappeared from Anne’s lips for even a second. 

About halfway through the class, when Anna got up to go sharpen her pencil, Joan leapt up from her seat to go talk to her. Katherine pricked her ears to hear their conversation.

“Hey, Joan,” Anna said, smiling at the younger girl. “How are you?”

“Good,” Joan answered quietly. She was fidgeting with her sleeves, pulling them over her hands and bunching them into balls, clearly anxious about something. “Umm-- I-I just-- I had to t-tell you that I need to be home by eleven.”

Katherine saw Anna frown slightly. Joan lowered her head, guilt practically radiating off of her body.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered. “B-but my Mama-- She’ll worry if I stay out too long and-- I’m really sorry. I don’t want to spoil your fun, but--”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Anna calmed her, noticing that she was getting worked up. “I understand completely.”

Joan nodded slightly. “O-okay…” 

“Did something happen?” Anna asked. She gently lifted Joan’s chin and ducked her head slightly to look at something. That’s when Katherine noticed indigo and violet splotches of bruises under Joan’s lower jaw.

“Oh--” Joan looked a little uncomfortable, but didn't pull away from Anna’s hand. “Yeah. I just--fell. On a chair. Yesterday. And I hit my mouth.”

Anna pursed her lips. “Looks like it hurts.”

Joan shrugged. “I’m used to it.” She took a small step back. “Umm-- I’m gonna--go sit back down. Oh, and th-thank you. For not getting mad.”

“I wouldn’t be mad at you, Joan.” Anna said honestly.

Joan ducked her head with an adorably shy blush. She nodded and shuffled back over to her seat.

Katherine didn’t miss the way Anna smiled fondly at her.

\------

“Um, 15. High school. I’m in Year 11.”

Joan held the phone close to her ear, listening intently to what the operator was telling her. She kept shifting from foot to foot, trying to keep her nervousness quelled inside of her.

“What kind of counselling? Like a guidance counselor?”

Miss Aragon’s office smelled like apples and cherry blossoms. It was a comforting scent, so different from the locker room just outside the door. And outside that door, was someone coming in. Someone who wasn’t the coach.

“Oh. No. Nothing like that. Would they know what’s happening with me?”

Footsteps, the rustling of clothes, soft clangs against lockers- Joan heard none of it.

“Um, so, if I just think it’s real and it’s not, how would I know? I mean, it _feels real._ ”

“We’re not supposed to use that phone.”

Joan just about jumped out of her skin when she heard the voice. She slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, missing it the first time, nearly flipping it off of the desk the second, and then finally smashing it into place so hard it’s a wonder the entire thing didn’t crumble to dust the third. She whirled around to face Anne Boleyn standing in the doorway, looking like a disdainful emerald with her sparkling green dress and darkly amused expression. Joan swallowed thickly and shuffled back slightly, pressing her spine against the sharp edge of Miss Aragon’s table.

“I-I was talking to my mum.” She stammered.

“Didn’t sound like you were talking to your mum.” Anne said.

“We were having a fight…” Joan said awkwardly. It was the best excuse she could come up with under pressure; telling this girl that she was actually calling a university over the psychic powers she had would probably sound a little strange.

Slowly, she bent down and picked up her belongings off of the floor. As much as she wanted to stay longer and talk more with Miss Aragon when she got back from her current class, Anne was making her extremely uneasy and on edge. She didn’t feel very safe being alone with her.

“I always fight with my mum,” Anne mused. “Always hang up on her, too.” She laughed. “So, I take it you’ve leveled out since last Friday?”

Joan stared at her.

( _what does she want what does she want_ )

“Your little episode.”

( _no no go away leave me alone_ )

“You went all fetal in the shower.”

In spite of herself, Joan felt a blush crawl to her cheeks. She looked away, shifting her weight onto a different knee. She wanted to hide behind her books and hope Anne would be gone when she looked back up again.

“What about it?” She asked softly.

“Well, you have to admit you totally overreacted,” Anne said. She stepped into the room fully. The door clicked shut behind her.

( _trapped trapped trapped trapped_ )

“You know, we were just messing around!”

( _what_ )

“We wouldn’t give you a hard time if we didn’t like you.”

Joan raised her head slightly and blinked at Anne in confusion and shock. Was that really how friendships worked?

“I mean, we all really like you.” Anne said. “You know that, right?”

( _friend_ )

Joan looked her up and down, and could easily locate at least three faults in this statement, but she was so hungry for friends and affection that the hopeful, naive part of her sort of believed it. Still, she kept her walls raised up and tried not to let that vulnerability show on her face.

“What do you want?” She asked warily.

“Don’t get all pissy,” Anne said, and she playfully shoved Joan, although it didn’t feel as playful as it should have been. Miss Aragon’s desk scraped against the floor slightly, its edge cutting uncomfortably into Joan’s spine. “I’m only trying to be nice!”

( _nice_ )

( _not nice don’t trust_ )

( _nice_ )

“So,” Anne examined Joan closely, and Joan wanted to squirm underneath her gaze. “Are your boobs sore?”

Joan blinked at her in bewilderment. She looked down at her breasts for just a moment, then looked back up quickly, opening and closing her mouth like a flabbergasted fish out of water. All she could get out was a dumbstruck, “What?”

“You look a little bloated,” Anne continued, ignoring her question. She tilted her head, seemingly to get a better angle at Joan’s stomach, and Joan felt like there were eels squirming underneath her skin. “When I’m bloated, my boobs get really sore.”

Joan couldn’t help but glance at Anne’s own breasts when that was said.

“You’re only supposed to take, like, two Ibuprofen,” Anne went on. “I take three.” She chuckled. “I got that from Kat! She’s, like, a total junkie. Now that you guys are all cozy, she’ll have you tossing them back like communion wafers.”

“I’m not...cozy with Katherine Howard…” Joan said.

Anne looked oddly surprised, and Joan wondered for a moment if she accidentally ruined a friendship she didn’t even know she had.

“Really?” Anne said. “She’s acting like you’re her new best friend!”

( _friend_ )

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great. Just...don’t let her turn you into another one of her ‘projects.’”

That made Joan perk up. She blinked rapidly at Anne.

“Did she say I was a project?”

“It’s her MO.” Anne said. She looked at Joan pitifully. “Maria was a project, Bessie was a project...I was even a project! She practically talked me into getting Botox last summer. Can you believe that?” She laughed.

“Maybe she thought you needed it…”

Something twitched on Anne’s face, like her expression was actually just a mask of plaster that was starting to crumble. She resettled her features quickly.

“I’m just saying that she has a hard time accepting people for who they are.” Anne said. “Being her friend can be a little on the demeaning side, especially when everyone in school knows why she’s being your friend.”

Joan flinched at her words and looked down at her feet. Anne made a sympathetic clucking noise.

“Well, I gotta dip,” Anne said, heading for the door. “Oh, and you can tell Katherine she can say all she wants about me, but at least when I’m being a bitch I’ll cop to it.”

Joan said nothing.

Anne smiled. “Bye!”

And then she was gone. Joan could finally breathe, and she instantly sunk to the floor, trying to tame all the whirling thoughts filling up her brain.

( _go_ )

( _don’t go_ )

( _go_ )

( _don’t go_ )

( _trick trick it’s a trick Mama was right_ )

A door out in the locker room opened and closed. Miss Aragon appeared in the doorway, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead and dozens of water droplets shimmering like silver spider eyes in her hair. Despite the chilly weather outside, she was wearing black shorts and a lemon yellow workout shirt, looking like an angelic wasp in the office.

“Joan,” She said, noticing the girl on the floor. Students from her current class were starting to file in to get changed, so she stepped inside fully and shut the door. “You really did skip all of third, didn’t you? Naughty girl.”

Joan ducked her head, feeling embarrassed. After what her mother did to her last night, she had been desperate to see Miss Aragon, one of the only people she felt safe around. Something about the coach’s presence was so comforting to her, like she would never be harmed as long as she stayed by her side. So, she went to her, missing the entirety of her third period Geometry class to hide out in the office after explaining that she was feeling very anxious, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Sorry…” She mumbled.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Miss Aragon chuckled. She tilted her head at Joan. “What are you doing on the floor?” 

“Just...thinking…” Joan replied.

“About?” Miss Aragon asked, sitting down next to her. Her eyes were so caring and loving; Joan wished she could be looked at like that forever.

“I got invited to prom.” Joan said, and something about Miss Aragon’s expression told her the coach already knew. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. “But I don’t know if I should go…”

Miss Aragon appeared to be a little startled by that. She shifted around and ducked her head so she could look at Joan’s face, and Joan could see all that love and care glow in her eyes once again.

“What do you mean?” She prodded. “Why not?”

“I’m not gonna fit in…” Joan said. “I still can’t wrap my head around why Anna von Cleves asked ME. Katherine Howard is so pretty and muscley and smart and tall and confident and pretty…” She trailed off. “Why would she want to go with me?”

“Because you’re amazing, Joan.” Miss Aragon said, not missing a beat. “Anyone who doesn’t have their head in their--umm--butt can see that.”

Joan giggled softly at her coach’s avoidance of swearing in front of her, but it quickly died off when all her self esteem issues came shoving their way back in. She huddled her knees even closer to her chest and looked down at the floor.

“But...I’m not as pretty as all the other girls…” She mumbled.

“Nonsense!” Miss Aragon reprimanded. “Joan, you are a very pretty girl.” She cupped Joan’s face and lifted her head up. “Just look at those eyes! And those lips! Why, with the right shade of lipstick--”

“Lipstick?” Joan sputtered. “My mother would never--”

“Joan, it could be wonderful!” Miss Aragon went on. “They don’t have the glow you have. The-- the charm! Those other girls may as well just wear garbage bags with the word ‘whore’ spray painted on it. And you wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Because they’re whores.”

Joan burst out into giggles and had to cover her mouth to try and muffle them. Miss Aragon grinned triumphantly.

“It’s because none of them will be able to do what you can do,” Miss Aragon said. “You have been hurt for so many years, and yet you’re still getting up and going to the prom, despite it all. If one of those girls out there were in your shoes, they would have given up a long time ago. They wouldn’t have said yes and, instead, cried in their bathtub or something pathetic like that. But you,” She cupped Joan’s cheeks again, and Joan couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of her hands, “you’re not doing that. You’re stronger than all of them combined, you know that?”

“I-I am?” Joan asked shyly.

“Yes, silly!” Miss Aragon said with a light laugh. “You’re so brave, Joan. Braver than you let yourself think.”

Joan blushed and looked away. Miss Aragon smiled down at her lovingly.

“And I, for one, am really looking forward to seeing you kill it on the dance floor,” Miss Aragon added, making Joan dissolve into giggles once again.

“Thank you, Miss Aragon,” Joan said. She threw her arms around Miss Aragon’s stomach and hugged her, much to her coach’s pleasant surprise. She heard Miss Aragon chuckle softly and return the embrace.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Miss Aragon said.

They sat there together on the floor, limbs intertwined, for a few more minutes until the bell rang, signaling that the fourth period would soon begin. Miss Aragon had to pull away and stand up, but Joan could have sworn she noticed some reluctance in her movements.

“Are you going to stay in here?” Miss Aragon asked.

Joan nodded. She pulled out a notebook and pencil from her nearby bag.

“I have something I need to plan.”

“Oh?” Miss Aragon tilted her head. “What is it?”

Joan grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

\------

“Come on, you hotshots!” Aragon yelled, clapping her hands loudly. “I want to see you _sweat!_ ”

Although it wasn’t detention right now, she still thoroughly enjoyed making gym class a little more like hell than usual for the week-long punishment. She had the girls playing a rather fierce game of rugby out in the field. Nothing was more entertaining than watching these daisies slip and slide in the wet turf and barrel into each other to evade her scornful words.

“Maggie, get those knees up!” She shouted at the brown-haired student.

“I don’t like running!” Maggie wheedled in response. She narrowly avoided being plowed by a blonde girl much bigger than she was.

“Maria!” Aragon barked, rounding on the next student she caught slacking. “Question.”

Maria raised her head, squinting through a rain of sweat dripping into her eyes. She replied with a loud, bovine-like, “WHA?”

“Did you ride the struggle bus to school this morning?” Aragon asked. “Because you are just one hot mess express over there!”

Maria swallowed thickly and turned her attention back to the ball.

“It’s not a bomb, Katherine!” Aragon said, watching Katherine fumble and avoid the ball so she wouldn’t get hit or run into. “It’s not going to hurt you! Get in there and get some points for your team! You’re better than this!!”

Katherine nodded wordlessly and threw herself into the fray.

“Bessie, hi,” Aragon smiled at the bleached girl, who slowed down to look at her. “Do you smell that?”

Bessie blinked her big dark brown eyes in confusion.

“It’s the smell of FAILURE!” Aragon yelled.

Bessie whimpered loudly, and then whimpered even louder than that when the ball flew into her stomach. She fell backwards to the ground and quickly scrambled across the grass before she could get trampled by her classmates. Aragon watched her in amusement, then noticed Anne whispering to two other girls a few yards away. She locked in on her.

“Anne!” She roared. “Shut your mouth and get back to the game!”

Anne glared at her, but her features strangely evened out and calmed rather quickly. A smile spread on her lips.

“You’re right, Miss Aragon,” She said. “I am so sorry!”

Aragon was instantly suspicious. It wasn’t like Anne to be so agreeable to her scolding when she was worked up like she had been the past week. There was something off about that smile, too…

What was she planning?

\------

Katherine could have spotted her from a mile away- Joan stuck out like a sore thumb in the makeup section of the department store.

Per Bessie’s frantic request, she was out getting more paints and art supplies for the decoration committee. However, she didn’t expect Joan to be there, poorly applying ruby red lipstick to her lips.

It was almost painful to watch. Joan’s hand slipped several times and streaked shiny crimson lines over the top of her mouth. There was even a moment where she flicked her tongue out to taste the gloss and instantly scrunched her face up in disgust. Katherine barely managed to muffle a laugh.

A few people were starting to stare. Two small children were giggling over the spectacle. A woman nearby looking through a selection of eye shadow watched Joan with an absolutely dismayed expression, like she couldn’t believe any girl in this day and age didn’t know how to properly apply makeup. Katherine rolled her eyes. Gender expectations.

Joan’s head swiveled around and she looked like a deer in headlights when she noticed Katherine standing there. Katherine gave her a warm smile as a truce gesture of sorts and stepped out of the art aisle she had been going through. She walked over, setting various paints and paintbrushes in the basket she was holding. Joan eyed her warily, poised and ready to run.

“Hey,” Katherine greeted casually.

“H-hi,” Joan replied in a squeaky voice. The overhead lights made her pale skin look very pasty, and the sheen of messy red gloss coating her lips only stuck out even more. She was trying very hard not to look at Katherine, but her eyes kept trailing over to the older girl.

“You come here often?” Katherine asked. Over Joan’s shoulder, she noticed a trio of Year 12’s from her school gliding out from the next aisle over and stopping to ogle her and Joan. She shot them a severe look and they moved on, muttering to each other.

“N-no,” Joan answered. She jammed the lid of the lipstick back onto the capsule and set it back on the small rack of gloss that was used for testing the colors. Although, they weren’t meant to actually be put on the lips, rather just the wrist or example board provided off to the side. Joan didn’t seem to know that, though. Katherine guessed that this was her first time ever being in the makeup section of a store.

There was an awkward beat of silence between the two of them. Joan was looking through the other selections of lipstick, but it was obvious she was watching Katherine out of the corner of her eye. Katherine wondered why she was so untrustworthy around her and seemingly everyone else, but perfectly okay with Anna.

Strange. Was that...envy bubbling up inside of her?

“You have trouble coloring in the lines, don’t you?” Katherine commented, finally breaking the tension between the two of them.

Joan blinked at her obliviously, like a little white calf that didn’t realize it had a rattlesnake wound up its leg.

“Huh?”

Katherine gestured vaguely for her lips. Joan looked in the mirror provided and jolted, only then realizing how messy her mouth was. 

“Oh--”

She hurriedly began wiping the lipstick off with her arm. Katherine gave her a napkin from a box on the shelf, smiling in a humored way that she hoped didn’t come off as cruel or mocking.

“You know, you might want to try something a little less drastic.” Katherine said. She wove around Joan to get to her other side and began looking through the selection. After a moment of mentally comparing shades to Joan’s light skin tone, she plucked up a dark pink tube of lipstick. “Like...this one!”

She reached for Joan’s face to apply it, and Joan flinched away as if she were expecting a blow to the head, nearly falling over. Her eyes were suddenly bulging out of her skull in fright. Katherine mentally swore at herself.

_Idiot. Of course that would startle her._

“Sorry,” Katherine said softly. “I should have asked first. Is it okay if I put this on you?” She opened her left hand harmlessly, and after a moment of consideration, Joan tentatively placed her chin into her palm. Katherine felt a strange fluttering sensation inside of her.

“So, you curve it around the bow of your lips like so…” Katherine explained, dragging the tip of the lipstick across Joan’s pale lips, giving them color so they wouldn’t look as leached as they always were. Joan watched her with wide eyes the entire time, never looking away. “And...now rub them together.”

Joan obeyed, rubbing her lips together and smearing the color into a darker, more prominent shade.

“And smack them!” Katherine demonstrated with a pop.

Joan blinked and then copied her. _Pop,_ went her lips softly.

“There you go!” Katherine smiled. She screwed the lipstick back into its capsule and put it back before anyone could realize they were actually putting it onto someone’s face. “You can add some lip liner for a little extra drama…”

She trailed off, watching as Joan used a pad to wipe her lips clean. Secondhand embarrassment surged so strongly inside of her she felt her throat close up and face burn with heat. She snatched the pad away from Joan, startling her into bumping into the display of makeup and causing it to rattle. They both frantically steadied it as customers peered over curiously and a worker restocking some markers from the art section looked at them with an exasperatedly devastated expression. Katherine waved at him dismissively to let him know that they had it under control and everything was okay. He looked away, relieved at not having to confront any sort of issue and run the risk of being yelled at (not that Katherine thought she had any kind of Karen vibes… Joan certainly didn’t and didn’t look up to yelling at anyone).

“Sorry,” Katherine said to Joan, standing up fallen tubes of lipstick. “I didn’t mean to, uhh, freak out. It’s just--that’s not what these are for.” She shoved the pad into her purse, hoping the flickers of scarlet flames on her cheeks couldn’t be seen.

“Oh.” Joan said and choked out the slightest laugh, even though it was clear she thought the situation was far from funny. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Katherine said. “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

 _Nobody told you…_ Her mind went on, and embarrassment was quickly replaced with pity and sadness. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have her biology and own bodily functions hidden from her for so long. No wonder Joan freaked out last Friday. There was so much blood, too, even for her first period… Even she had to think back on it and wonder if something was actually really wrong. Surely there wasn’t, though. If Joan was internally bleeding, she would be dead by now.

“I-I, uhh--” Joan started, and then clamped her mouth shut. She swerved away from Katherine and began walking quickly down the main aisle towards the back of the store. Katherine followed her.

“What?” She questioned.

“N-nothing,” Joan shook her head. 

Joan turned, and Katherine saw that she was heading to the fabric area of the store. She tilted her head slightly and watched as the girl beelined for a roll of teal fabric, running her hands over it and rubbing it between her fingers. She turned away after a moment of feeling, going to a darker aquamarine shade, then orange, then purple, and then magenta. Both Katherine and the woman working the counter watched her process in a vaguely interested way.

“What are you doing?” Katherine asked.

“Looking,” Joan replied distractedly. She felt a roll of black mesh and instantly ripped her hand away with an expression of pure disgust. Katherine couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t like that, sweetie?”

“It’s too scratchy.” Joan said, shaking her hand in the air as if she were trying to erase the feeling of mesh against her skin. “Do people really wear that? What kind of self-respecting person would put that on?” She touched some fishnets next and recoiled like she had been burned, looking even more appalled. Katherine laughed again.

“Some people do, yes,” She said. “It’s kind of a gothic look.” She decided to leave out how she had a black mesh top that she liked to seduce Anna with when they were alone.

“It’s awful.” Joan stated firmly. She tugged off a waterfall of sunflower yellow fabric off of the wall and it all came tumbling down onto her. She tottered backwards, nearly collapsing under the weight of the material, then steadied herself and held out her arm, coiling a lacing of cloth around it. She inspected it for a moment, then began putting the fabric back onto its hook, much neater than it had been before. The woman at the counter blinked at her with an appraising look.

“So…” Katherine said idly, watching Joan dart over to another rack of fabrics. She’s never seen the girl’s eyes shine so much before. It was like she was in textile heaven. “Have you picked out your dress?”

“No,” Joan replied after a brief moment of hesitation. She unraveled a veil of iridescent green fabric, took one look at it, then wrapped it back up and put it back on its hook. “But I found a style that I like.” She thoughtfully touched her messenger bag.

“What color?” Katherine asked interestedly. 

“I can’t decide,” Joan said, holding strips of saffron and azure and wrinkling her nose at the way it contrasted with her pale skin. “I’m--trying to figure out that now.”

Katherine’s eyes widened a little. “You make your own clothes?” 

Joan looked a touch shy. “Sometimes.” She said. “It’d be cheaper to make my dress myself.”

“Oh, you are absolutely right.” Katherine said. “Those things are EXPENSIVE!”

A small smile twitched on Joan’s lips, then she got back to looking through the selections. She didn’t seem pleased with any of them offered, even though Katherine spotted at least four different shades she thought would make beautiful dresses.

“Well,” Katherine quickly started again, pouncing on an opportunity that lit up inside of her like a light bulb. “I don’t know if you want to, but maybe we can do a little fashion consultation thing? We could even model! Maria’s coming over Saturday afternoon before prom and she does these little shows to find the perfect style.”

Joan tensed, hands freezing in their process of sliding over a roll of crimson red cloth. She stared at it for a long moment, then pulled away, shaking her hands out like they had blood on them.

“I don’t know if I want to model,” She mumbled.

“Oh--”

Katherine blinked stupidly, now looking like the brain dead cow between the two of them. She didn’t know why she was expecting Joan to say yes. The girl didn’t exactly look like the type to be able to say no to people. Now she just felt bad for seemingly pressuring Joan into the hangout session.

“Sorry.”

Joan didn’t hear her apology, however, because she had already darted to another rack. Her eyes were wide and glowing, and she realized she was looking at a roll of pale flamingo pink silk. Carefully, like she thought it may disintegrate in her hands, Joan picked up the bulk and held it close to her chest, staring up with a dreamy, wistful expression.

That had to be the one.

“It’s so pretty,” Joan murmured as Katherine walked over, running her hand up and down the surface of the fabric. There was a smile ghosting over her lips, which still had remnants of the lipstick splotched over it.

“It is.” Katherine agreed. The shade of pink really fit well with Joan’s pale complexion, light hair, and icy eyes. “You’re gonna look great, I’m sure of it.” Then, idly, as she fiddled with the edge of some scratchy white cotton fabric, “I’m really glad you’re going to prom.”

Joan paused her process of thoroughly caressing the silk and blinked at Katherine in bright confusion.

“Why?”

A piece of Katherine’s heart broke and chipped off.

“I just thought you’d have a good time, that’s all.” Katherine said.

“Why?” Joan asked again, this time softer. Her eyebrows knitted together, and Katherine only now realized they were light brown instead of platinum blonde like her hair. Her pubic hair had been brown, too, which Katherine remembered with an internal cringe and a flash of intense guilt. She would never get over the culpability of harassing this young girl when she was completely naked.

“Why do you care if I have a good time?”

Katherine opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Joan tilted her head at her.

“I mean, you’ve never really talked to me before,” She said, “and the only reason you’re probably talking to me right now is because none of your friends are around.”

Katherine sucked in a sharp breath, but released it softly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lady at the counter listening with great intrigue, but was pretending to cut some fabric to make it seem like she wasn’t.

“Look,” Katherine said. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t go.”

“N-no, I want to go!” Joan sputtered out hurriedly, like she thought her ticket would be revoked if she didn’t speak fast enough. “I-I didn’t say I didn’t want to, I just-- I wished I was going ‘cause someone liked me, not because they feel sorry for me.”

“This is not a pity thing.” Katherine clarified. She was usually such a good liar, but she could hear the falsehood oozing between her words. Even the lady at the counter widened her eyes in a ‘yeah, okay’ sort of expression. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

Joan laughed weakly. “Yes, you do.” She said. She gazed down at the roll of fabric in her arms, then hugged it closer to her. “You feel sorry for me--because you think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t think I’m better than you.” Katherine said.

Joan smiled tightly at her. “It’s okay,” She said. “Everyone does.” She turned to go pay for the fabric, but paused for just a moment and added, “Doesn’t mean it’s true, though.”

\------

Joan placed a box of buttons and sequins and string down next to all her other sewing materials and stood back proudly, admiring her precise set up for a moment. There was the sewing machine, her rack of different colored threads, a gleaming pile of needles, the fabric, and then her dress sketches. The crucible lifted his wooden head from the floor and placed it heavily on the table, blinking his broken glass eyes at everything. 

Joan summoned--was that the right word?--him again--she had decided he was a boy. She enjoyed his company, even if it were just herself who was controlling all his movements. If she didn’t think about it, then he almost seemed sentient.

“Want some tea, Mama?” Joan called into the den.

Most of the furniture and religious decorations were gone, broken up to form Judgement’s body. But Mama’s velvet throne chair remained, and that’s where she sat, sewing a dark grey embroidery and trying very hard not to look at her devil spawn and her horrid creation. She doesn’t reply to Joan’s question. Judgement let out a hiss of static. Joan sighed and went back to her project.

She picked up her sketches. After going through at least ten different designs, she was stuck on two. The first was long and flowing, with off-shoulder sleeves and a fishtail skirt, while the second had a cross-folded bust, loose skirt, and open, draped sleeves that reach down to her elbows and hang low like flamingo wings. She analyzed the two dress ideas for a moment, showing Judgement for his opinion, then looked up again.

“Mama?” She padded over to her mother. “Do you like this one or this one?”

Jane Seymour did not look up from her embroidery as Joan showed her the two drawings. 

Joan waited for a moment, expecting a reaction, then smiled down at the second drawing.

“I think this one’s really pretty…” She murmured, already dazzled by it, even in a simple pencil-sketched form.

“It’s Godless.” Mama muttered.

Joan’s smile disappeared in an instant. She gave her mother a look of extreme offense.

“It’s not Godless, Mama.” She said. “I wish you could be happy for me.”

Mama’s dead, dull eyes wandered up to Joan’s face slightly, but almost instantly turned back to her embroidery. She began weaving the needle through the fabric again.

“There’s a mark on you now,” She said bitterly.

Joan blithely ignored her. “This one’s prettier!” She declared, beaming, and pranced back over to her sewing station in the next room. 

“ _Pretty_.” Judgement echoed in a high pitched feminine voice that was slightly edged with static. He coiled up into a spring-like formation so he could watch from a higher view point.

“Yes!” Joan bobbed her head eagerly. “It’s really pretty!” She grinned brightly at her sketch.

“Woe to the woman who makes garments for lustful purposes, for she is prideful and curses and rejects the Lord.” Mama said from her chair. She was looking at Joan intently, now, hands knotted and frozen in her embroidery.

Judgement cast her a dark look, his wooden facial features creaking threateningly as his mouth and eyes move. Joan just furrowed her eyebrows at her mother.

“Sometimes I think you make that stuff up.” She said.

“Ezekiel, Chapter 13.” Mama said. “Read it for yourself.”

“I’ll read it later.” Joan said dismissively, unfolding the cloth she got from the store.

“Read it now.”

“I’m bust, Mama!” Joan whined.

Mama set her needle and thread and embroidery aside, and approached Joan cautiously. Her eyes kept darting over to Judgement, who had his bladed tail poised and ready to strike. Joan took a deep breath and looked up from her project to meet her mother’s gaze.

“You’ve gone so far astray that I fear for you.” Mama said. 

Joan hunched her shoulders in slightly. “Do you really think I’m going to burn in hell, Mama, just for going to my prom?” She asked meekly. 

“I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen to you.” Mama answered. “Sin knows you now. It’ll find you.”

“Mama…” Joan whimpered out softly. 

Mama advanced on Joan. Judgement swelled up, his platelets and wooden scales standing on edge to make him look bigger. Mama took a small step back, but didn’t stand down fully, even though Joan could easily see the terror in her eyes. Her mother wanted to run and hide and pray to God.

“Your sin will find you, Johanna,” Mama hissed. “And when it does, not even Jesus can help you.”

“Jesus will help me.” Joan said. “He will help me if I really need him.”

“Not if he doesn’t love you anymore.”

Mama’s words made it feel like the entire world was coming down on Joan’s shoulders. Her eyes widened and she watched, mouth agape, as Mama turned and went back to her chair to continue sewing. Not even Judgement moved- her mind was too shell shocked to control him.

And then, she’s marching forward before she’s even aware of what she was doing, burning flares of anger urging her onward. Judgement slithered after her, his body making a menacing scraping sound against the wooden floor. Mama didn’t look up at her.

“Jesus loves everybody, Mama.” Joan said, clenching her fingers into shaking fists at her side. “Even me.”

Mama glanced up at her and opened her mouth to retort, but Joan narrowed her eyes into slits and silenced her.

“Don’t say a word,” She warned, “or I’ll vibrate your insides so hard they burst, and don’t think I won’t do it.”

Mama became very pale. Judgement let out a pleased hiss. Joan turned her nose up and marched back over to her sewing station, where she got to work on her dress. Judgement played music that wasn’t religious for once, and Mama did nothing to stop it.

She couldn’t.

\------

The black G-Wagen jostled violently as it drove up the dark dirt path that night, going twenty miles too fast on the unpaved road. Branches scraped against the room and mud squelched beneath the tires, and if she weren’t so excited for this, Anne might have been dismayed about her car getting all dirty. She made a mental note to wash it before her father saw the mess on the sides.

“Are you sure Henty isn’t around?” Cathy asked from the passenger’s seat. She was white knuckling the overhead handle, looking a lot less mature than she usually did. Anne rolled her eyes at her.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Anne answered.

“Where is he?” Thomas Culpeper, a distant cousin to Anne, piped up. He was crammed in the back with Maggie, Thomas Cromwell, and Anthony Lee, Maggie’s boyfriend, and kept being throwing from side to side with every bump they hit.

“Funeral.” Anne said. “For his mum or something? Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, okay,” Thomas said. “I just don’t want to get caught.” The car went over a particularly rough pothole and his head smacked against the window. He whined sharply in pain, rubbing the impacted area, while Maggie and Anthony burst into laughter.

“We won’t get caught.” Anne said.

“Seems like a lot of work for a joke…” Cromwell muttered over the peals of giggling.

Anne jerked her head around, not watching the dark road ahead of her, and narrowed her eyes until she looked like a venomous snake.

“Are you pussying out?” She asked. “Do you want to get out?”

Cromwell stiffened. “No! No!” He said. “It’s a good joke!”

Anne made a pleased noise and looked forward again. Her bright yellow headlights cut through the brambles snarled around the road and illuminated the large grey building coming up in the distance. She finally began to slow the car down.

The night air was a strange mix if humidly warm and chillingly cold. The half moon glowed brightly in the bruise-dark sky, its light twinkling on the surface of a nearby pond and bathing the surrounded apple orchard in rays of luscious silver. A cow lowed from somewhere in the distance. Pigs and chickens snorted and clucked inside the barn.

Anne popped open the trunk and pulled out a thick sledgehammer. Anthony armed himself with a wicked-looking butcher’s knife while Cromwell and Maggie both grabbed a steel bucket each. Anne passed the sledgehammer to Thomas, who swung the ten-pound thing idly, making swishing noises in the air. Cathy waited by the front of the car, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“What’s wrong, doll?” Anne asked, sauntering up to her. She stood on her tippy toes and nipped at Cathy’s bottom lip, slithering her arms around her waist. “You look a little blue.”

Cathy ruffled ever so slightly, touching her custom made blue leather jacket as her girlfriend giggled. She sighed and wrapped her arms around Anne, returning the embrace.

“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” She said. “Can’t you just forget about it?”

Anne narrowed her eyes. Her shellac green nails curled into Cathy’s lower back.

“No,” She hissed. “I cannot. I _will not_ forget about it.” She stepped back, huffing, not realizing she looked like a child throwing a temper tantrum in the moonlight. “I was _humiliated_ , Cathy! I can just let something like that go! It was AWFUL!”

Cathy frowned at Anne with a pitiful look.

“And you know who I blame?” Anne went on, fuming with rage. “That goddamn freak!” She kicked a rock and sent it bouncing across the dirt before it got stuck in some mud. “Joan Seymour is going to learn not to play with fire sooner or later. And it’s about time someone gave her a real lesson.”

“Yeah!!” Maggie agreed loudly, always backing up her best friend. Anne grinned at her brightly.

“This’ll definitely teach her,” Anthony said, glancing at the knife Cromwell was twisting to catch beams of moonlight on the blade. “I think I would kill myself if what you’re planning were to happen to me.”

A dark thrill crackled through Anne’s body. Joan Seymour? Killing herself? Oh, the image of that stupid cow hanging from a noose or bleeding out from slit wrists or dying from a bullet to her retarded brain sounded like a dream come true. It filled her with a sick kind of euphoria that made her feel tingly and pleasured. A crooked, bloodthirsty smile curled on her lips. She doesn’t notice the wary glance Cathy gave her.

“Hope for that,” She said. “Come on.”

They all approached the barn, with Cathy and Thomas being stupidly overly cautious despite Anne telling them several times that Old Man Henty wasn’t home. They hopped the outer fence and walked inside, where the smell of livestock became much thicker.

“Ugh, smells like shit in here!” Cromwell exclaimed.

“Well, yeah, dumbass.” Maggie said, rolling her eyes at him. She didn’t appear to be fazed by the smell at all, or was just really good at hiding that she was.

Passing by an indoor chicken coop and fenced area for cows, they soon came to the pigpen. There were dozens of pigs, Berkshires and Welshes and British Lops and British Saddlebacks, either sleeping or moseying around listlessly. A flat white snout stuck through the bars of the fence enclosing their pen and grunted at the newcomers.

Thomas nudged Anthony, then Anthony nudged Thomas, and then the two of them vaulted forward over the fence, squealing and snorting and making a complete ruckus. A few of the pigs didn’t even move from the mud they were sprawled in, not even caring about all the noise, while others screeched and sprinted away.

“Idiots,” Maggie rolled her eyes.

“You’re dating one of them.” Anne said and laughed at the way Maggie’s nose scrunched up. She hopped the fence and stepped into the pigpen, while Maggie, Cromwell, and Cathy waited on the other side.

“Hey, piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy!” Thomas cried, bending over and cackling at a lazy British Saddleback with a thick white neck.

“Where’s your leg?” Anthony asked an orange Tamworth that was missing one of its back legs. “This one.” He then declared. “We should kill this one. It’s crippled. We’d be doing it a favor.”

Anne studied the orange swine. It definitely did have a pitiful aura, what with the way it hopped awkwardly when it moved, but it was much too small.

“We need a bigger one.” She said, scanning the pigs grunting around her.

“Pick one that looks like the girl,” Cromwell suggested from the top of the fence he was perched on.

“You,” Anne pointed to him with an appraising look, “are starting to grow on me.”

Cromwell puffed out his chest importantly. Cathy pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything.

Anne looked through all the pigs, and then spotted one that caused a sinister smirk to spread on her face.

“That one.” She said.

It was a big, fat, pink British Lop so light it looked white in the moonlight it was standing under in the outside area of the pen. It had giant, crusty teats and huge floppy ears that it could barely see out from under. Anthony and Thomas lunged at it, shrieking callouts and laughing maddeningly, but the sow just looked up at them dumbly, its ears just barely shifting out of its face.

Just like Joan Seymour.

“Whenever you’re ready, Tommy.” Anne said to her younger cousin.

It was only then that Thomas seemed to realize that he was holding the sledgehammer...which meant he had to kill the pig.

He hefted it in his hands, held his breath, then raised it over his head and--

Thomas faltered. He grit his teeth, staring down at the sow that was now curiously nudging one of his shoes with its snout, then released the tension in his arms.

“I can’t do it.” He said miserably.

Anne glared at him. Maggie rolled her eyes. Cathy gave him a pitying look.

“Are you kidding me?” Anne said. “Really, Tommy?”

“I can’t, okay?!” Thomas cried. He held out the sledgehammer. “Y-you do it.” His eyes wandered to Cromwell.

“Dude, don’t look at me!” Cromwell said sickly. He leaned back so far he nearly fell off the fence.

“I don’t believe you,” Anne said to her cousin. “Does being a little bitch run in our fucking family or something? First Kat and now you?” She shook her head, tutting.

“Take it.” Thomas said, shoving the sledgehammer forward in the air. When Anne just stared at him he said again, “Seriously, take it!”

“You fucking pussy.” Anne hissed scathingly. She snatched the sledgehammer from Thomas and shoved him aside into the fence. She looked over at Anthony questiongly.

“Don’t worry,” Anthony said, touching his thumb to the honed edge.

“Right down the throat.” Anne reminded.

“I know.”

Anne nodded. She twirled the sledgehammer in her hands and gazed down at the sow at her feet. A disturbing smirk crept back onto her lips.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in,” She sang, circling around the sow. She then did an awful imitation of Joan Seymour’s voice, “Not by the hairs on your chinny-chin-chin!” She hefted the sledgehammer, her expression darkening, crooked smile twisting. “Then I’ll huff...and I’ll puff...and I’ll bash your brains in!”

The sow looked up, innocent black eyes peeking out from under floppy pink ears, and Anne put the sledgehammer right in between them.

The sound was like dropping a pumpkin from a great height- wet, gushy, and absolutely magnificent. The sow dropped to the ground, its skull dented and cracked open wide, blood and brains drooling out. Thomas keeled over the side of the fence and vomited. Anne regarded him with a disgusted expression.

“Anthony,” She said, swiveling her head around to Maggie’s boyfriend. “Come on. Maggie, the bucket.”

Anthony nodded as Maggie hopped the fence and set one of the steel buckets down. Anthony lifted the sow by its thick snout, open black eyes angled towards the moon, and slit its throat. 

The blood flow was immediate and glorious. Anne, Anthony, and Maggie all got squirted by the cut aorta. Thomas gagged again.

“Good,” Anne murmured. She gripped the sledgehammer tightly, riding the ways of pleasantly gory ecstasy. “That one, too.” She nodded at a large black Berkshire boar.

“Jesus, Anne.” Cathay said. “Isn’t this en-”

“That one.” Anne repeated.

“Annie, can I cut its throat this time?” Maggie asked eagerly.

“Of course, love!” Anne said, earning a sick squeal of glee from her friend. She lumbered over to the boar, unable to stop grinning. “Don’t worry, piggy, don’t worry,” She cooed to it. “Auntie Annie’s going to bash your fucking head in and you won’t have to worry about the fryer no more!”

She raised the sledgehammer again and smashed much harder than before. Mushed brain matter came spilling out instantly, wetting the dirt of the pigpen. Maggie excitedly cut the boar’s throat and began filling up the second bucket.

“Thomas that isn’t a fucking disappointment,” Anne said.

It took him a moment, but Cromwell realized it was him being spoken to. He perked up, attentive, but wary.

“Yeah?”

“Go get the spare bucket in the car.”

“ _Anne_.” Cathy said. “This is enough.”

“Shut up, Cathy.” Anne snapped. She looked back at Cromwell. “Go.”

Cromwell jumped off of the fence and ran out of the barn. Cathy grumbled something as Anne walked over and pulled her into a heated kiss. She wondered if her girlfriend could taste the pig blood spattered on her face.

“Cheer up, my love,” Anne said, cupping Cathy’s cheeks. “This is fun! No need to be so grouchy.” She kissed her again, letting her tongue snake into Cathy’s mouth.

They eventually pulled back, panting, ropes of saliva connecting their mouths together. Cathy smiled flusteredly.

“I guess...it is a pretty good joke.” She said.

“See?” Anne grinned, kissing down her jawline. Her breath was hot on Cathy’s tender skin. “I told you.”

Cromwell soon returned with the extra bucket. Anne thanked him and went back over to the dead pigs. She took the butcher knife from Maggie and cut open the sow’s belly.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked. He was ghostly pale in the moonlight and leaning against the fence.

Anne shot him a scornful look. “Making this even better.” She replied and began pulling out the sow’s organs. Thomas vomited once again and she rolled her eyes.

Slowly but surely, the third bucket was filled up with pig guts. Intestines, the womb, the uterus, the heart and stomach. When it was halfway full, she cut open the boar, took its intestines, then sliced off the scrotum and removed the testicles. 

The smell of blood was thick, rank, and coppery in the air. Anne was slimed up to her elbows in gore. Everyone was staring at her in wide-eyed awe.

“Let’s go,” She said, slinging the sledgehammer over her shoulder and picking up the bucket of guts. “Don’t spill a goddamn drop or else.” She warned Anthony and Cromwell when they lifted their own buckets. She didn’t trust her pussy cousin, Thomas, to do it.

They all walked back to the car, where they poured the blood and guts into a large cooler that was brought along. Anne didn’t bother cleaning her arms when she got back into the driver’s seat; she quite liked the aroma coming from the mess. She breathed it in deeply and smiled, leaning back in her seat.

“Pig’s blood for a pig,” She mused. “That freak is never going to know what hit her.”


	7. The Time Is Now

“I just can’t quite figure you out.”

“I’m an enigma.”

“No, you’re just hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Katherine sighed and crossed her arms on the table. It was the second day of inspection, a second day full of he said-she said, repeated questions, and Mulaney frantically trying to catch her in a lie. But she held strong, not letting her nerves take over. She had nothing to hide, and there was nothing Mulaney could do to arrest her because there was no evidence of her working with her cousin. She was innocent.

So why didn’t anyone believe her?

“I used to think you were part of Anne Boleyn’s agenda,” Mulaney said, sifting through his notes for the fifth time, like he was hoping some kind of evidence would appear in the pages, “but Thomas Culpeper has pretty much exonerated you.”

“I’m not hiding anything.” Katherine told him firmly. Shouldn’t Thomas saying she had nothing to do with the blood drop be enough?

“It just seems strange to me that you’re not more upset.” Mulaney said. 

“It’s been two weeks.” Katherine said. “They’ve had all the funerals. Am I supposed to wear black for the rest of my life?”

“No, that’s not what’s bothering me.” Mulaney said.

“Then what is?” Katherine asked, impatience growing in her voice.

“You just went through the single most traumatic event of your life--knock wood--and you’ve got something more important on your mind.” Mulaney stated. 

Katherine shook her head. She looked down at the doughnut that had once again been offered to her that morning, but she didn’t feel hungry. Just the thought of eating made her feel slightly sick.

“You know, I’m not as sorry as people think I should be,” She said. “Usually it’s them saying they’re sorry to _me_ , as if I was the one who suffered. But they expect me to be sorry, too. For myself and everyone who died at the prom. I’m not, though. Not even for Anna. And I know that sounds cruel, but she just seemed more like a daydream that I would wake up from eventually. Most relationships end like that, you know? And I’m definitely not sorry for Anne. A month ago, she was my best friend, even a big sister of sorts, and if you were to tell that version of me that I would hate her guts in just three weeks, I would have laughed you right out of England.”

She paused for a moment, collecting herself. Her eyes stung like she was going to cry, but no tears formed. Because she wasn’t sad- not for any of those people. Not for all her dead friends or cousin or girlfriend. 

“But Joan?” Katherine whispered, voice wavering, and the well behind her eyes finally bubbled up with hot tears. It was the first time she was actually close to crying over the Black Prom; she hadn’t been able to at any of the funerals, not even Anna’s or Maria’s, because nobody really deserved it, even the more innocent students. None of them deserved to be wept over after what they did. “Joan I feel sorry for.”

She sucked in a shaky breath, and Madeline passed her a tissue with a sympathetic expression. She took it and wiped her eyes. There was no makeup to smear, there wasn’t a point to have any on, so she rubbed and rubbed until her eyelids felt like they were tearing off of her face.

“They’ve forgotten her, you know?” She spoke up again. Her voice didn’t shake or crack or waver at all, despite her tears. It remained steady and calm. “They’ve made her into some kind of monster. On the way here I heard some kids making up a nursery rhyme about her coming to eat them if they were naughty and singing it while they jumped rope. But Joan wasn’t a monster. She was a human being. She was a little girl. And she was hurt. More than any of us were combined. She was hurt.”

She shook her head, sending the faded pink tips swishing around her tear stained face. She looked up at Mulaney, who appeared slightly stunned at her revelation, and pursed her lips.

“And sometimes I wonder if things would have been different if I had done something sooner. Or if I had just left her alone and didn’t ask Anna to go to prom with her.” She went on. “Too late now, though, right?”

A tight laugh that’s quickly bitten back. Katherine dropped her hands heavily to the tabletop and stared forward. Her eyes stung, laced with red vipers across the faded whites, and her mouth felt dry, but she still spoke again.

“Joan wasn’t a murderer. Or a killer. Or a monster. Those kinds of people kill because they can. They don’t have a reason. And if they do, it’s not a good one. They enjoy what they do.”

Her fingers clenched around her tissue, shredding it in her chewed nails.

“Joan...was an executioner. They kill people who need to be dead. Who shouldn’t be alive after what they’ve done. And me, everyone at that prom... ” She looked up and met Mulaney’s eyes. “We all deserved to die.”

\------

It's raining.

The water pouring out of the sky felt dirty before it even hit the ground, gritty and grimy like everything else in this city. It sluiced into the gutters and mixed with only God knows what other filth, lifting and floating discarded food wrappers, newspaper ads, and other bits of refuse. Even a thunderstorm couldn’t wash these streets clean.

The rain pounds over Anna’s trademarked red umbrella, splashing her with stray drops as she half walked, half jogged down the street. A street sign swam up out of the sheeting rain as she neared the corner: 14th and Martin.

She stared stupidly up at the sign for a second, slack-jawed. Her heart, already racing from the adrenaline rush of being caught in a rainstorm, started thudding like a hammer in her chest. A fat, grimy drop of water dripped off the edge of her umbrella and down the back of her neck, breaking her bemusement with a violent shudder.

Great. Just great.

It's prom day, it's raining, and she’s about to be late. And now she’s pretty sure she’s lost.

Bessie was going to kill her.

Taking a deep breath, Anna stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, raising her hand to hail a cab. Her black sneakers soak through immediately, chilling her feet to the bone and making her shiver; they weren’t her nicest pair of shoes, especially given her family’s wealth, but no other footwear deserved to be tormented by being submerged in the hellish current splashing down the street. A discarded newspaper wrapped around her ankle for a second. She glanced down and half the headline-- _ **“NEW WEST END MUSICAL: HUGE HIT OR ABSOLUTE DISASTER?”**_ \--jumped out at her before the rushing water pulls it off and away toward the gutter.

She didn’t have to wait long before a cheerfully yellow cab flashed its lights at her and pulled to the side of the road. But Anna’s barely taken two steps toward it when a woman steps off the street in front of her, heading for her cab.

Scrambling forward, Anna waved a hand like she would do if she were grabbing the attention of a deaf person and the lady turned to her. Her hawk-like features didn’t intimidate Anna. She just gathered herself up as well, making herself look bigger.

“Please,” She said with as much conviction as she could muster over the downpour. “I'm about to be late to a meeting and I can't afford to wait for another cab.”

The lady looked Anna over skeptically. Her lie must be convincing, perhaps how young she was appealed to emotion, too, because she stepped aside and gestured for the girl to take the cab.

Dripping and cold but victorious, Anna thanked the woman profusely and then slid into the backseat of the cab. 

“Twenty-third and Washington,” She told the driver. “As fast as possible, please.”

The cab pulled away from the curb in a muddy wave, weaving in and out of traffic in a way that made Anna decidedly nervous, given the way the cabbie was looking at her in the rear view mirror instead of at the road. She huddled into her wet clothes and watched the windshield wipers flop rhythmically back and forth, trying not to check the time every five seconds.

The radio was tuned to a couple of talking heads debating punishment for animal abuse.

“They’re just animals--” One of them said, but he was interrupted by the other shouting, “They’re living, breathing creatures just like we are. You don’t think they have feelings? Or can feel pain? I think the punishment should fit the crime. If you burn your dog’s head with a cigarette then YOU should be burned, too.”

“What's the big hurry?" The cab driver asked. The car cuts across two lanes to make a sudden right turn, leaving a cacophony of horns and screeching brakes in its wake.

“Today’s prom,” Anna said. “And I'm late for a very mandatory fashion meeting with some friends.”

The cabbie made a sympathetically amused face at the girl in the rear view mirror. 

“I hope this fashion show is worth it.” Then, he squinted at her before raising his eyebrows up. “I remember my prom. I got my tux the week before, though. Did you not?”

“My friend, Bessie, REALLY likes getting things the day of so they’ll be ‘fresh’ and ‘new’.” Anna told him, trying not to grab the ceiling handle as the cab started to fishtail in the half-flooded intersection. _I asked him to go fast, after all._ “Doubt there will be anything left, though.”

The cabbie laughed, rocking his hand back and forth. “You’d be surprised. Lotta people just use their parent’s tuxes or dresses. At least they did when I was in school.”

“This is 23rd,” Anna pointed out when the driver seemed to be about to miss the turn. He wrenched the wheel to the right. The cab hydroplaned through the pool of water that used to be an intersection and for a second it tilted crazily onto two wheels. Anna grabbed for the ceiling handle again and hung onto it with white knuckles, but the cab made the turn and settled back onto all four wheels with a squeaking complaint from the suspension.

The driver grinned at the girl in the rear view mirror. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

Anna forced her fingers to peel away from the handle, trying to relax. Just a few more blocks. “Her name is Joan.”

His grin doesn’t go away, even when it was revealed that his passenger was gay. That relaxed Anna mentally, but the fear of a possible car crash was still present because this guy wasn’t even pretending to watch the road. Her hand crept back up toward the handle.

“We’re kinda going more as friends, though,” Anna went on. “I have a girlfriend, but I wanted to be nice to this girl. She really deserves a fun night.”

The cabbie nodded. Was that...recognition in his eyes? Did people in this big city even know who Joan Seymour was?

Anna leaned further into the backseat of the cab. The rain slowed, then stopped, but surely just for a moment, knowing England’s awful weather patterns. As the driver turned the final corner, a ray of sun burst through a break in the clouds, glinting off the cracked, slippery sidewalks and flashing rainbows over the oily slicks coating the asphalt. It might be silly, but Anna could feel her heart lift at the sight of that little beam of light.

Then the cab pulled up in front of the prom outfit building, and her heart dropped right back into the hole it just crawled out of.

She could already see Bessie pacing inside, even through the large tinted windows. Her bleached white hair wasn’t exactly hard to miss.

Anna paid the cabbie, internally wincing at the cost of the fare, and stepped out of the cab, stumbling a little to avoid the muddy puddle lapping gently at the curb cut. The few steps between the edge of the street and the storefront-- _ **“Aria Bridal and Formal Wear”**_ was what the giant letters above the front doors said--suddenly seem like an impassable distance. She rolled her shoulders uncomfortably, not enjoying the feeling of being all soggy. It stopped raining for the moment, but her jacket was still damp and it scraped wetly against the back of her neck as she walked.

Finally, the threshold was crossed and Anna was inside. The chill of the AC crept into her bones and the clean, crisp smell of the building tickled her nose. Everything looked so refined, even the workers, with their sparkling jewelry and ironed blazers and precise makeup. 

And then there was Bessie, a bleached bundle of impatient rage. 

“Where have you been?!” The girl squawked, getting after Anna instantly. “You were supposed to be here at 10! It’s now--” She checked her watch, only to realize she didn’t wear a watch and had to pull out her phone. “--10:34!!”

As hilarious as Bessie’s tantrum was, it was causing a slight scene, so Anna covered her mouth and began pulling her over to where some of their other friends were sitting, already trying on humorously large top hats that no self-respecting person would possibly ever wear to their school prom. Lara Knight, August McCarthy, Ari Carter, Violet Rodgers, and Nicola Duran, all looking like the epitome of high schoolers getting ready for prom.

“Sorry,” Anna said, uncovering Bessie’s mouth when they got to the corner. “I had to park my car in a parking garage because there were literally no other places to park. And then I got lost.” She ran her fingers through her wet hair, ruffling the curls. “God, I hate London.”

“You can say that again,” August McCarthy agreed. Beady blue eyes like sapphires in a dark cave peer out from under the wide rim of a feathered top hat, blinking curiously at Anna’s dripping form. Their hair was done in a style much too complicated for Anna to try and pick apart, but she did have to wonder what kind of tux could possibly go with the clash of purple and teal and red-brown aside from simple black. 

“God, I hate--”

A hand was slapped over Anna’s mouth.

“It was a statement, not granted permission.” August said. They pulled their hand away and went back to pruning themselves in one of the full-body mirrors.

It wasn’t long before they all dove into the world of fancy party clothes, striking outrageous poses and yelping over the prices over some of the clothing.

“95 pounds for a single tux?” Ari Carter yawped, bug-eyeing the white suit they were holding. Their short brown hair was puffed up around their lean, warm face like a chocolate-covered dandelion. There was always something puzzling about them, perhaps it was a feeling of mischief or perhaps it was simply just their personality. But nonetheless, people tend to stay on their good side, while learning as much about them as possible. “God, I better get laid.”

“You’ve been praying for that since Year 9,” Nicola Duran called idly, not looking away from two yellow dresses she was comparing together, but Anna was sure she was smirking to herself. Ari glowered in her direction.

“Well, yeah,” They muttered to themselves. “It’s the least someone could do after I drain my entire bank account on a shirt.”

“I’ve got bigger plans, honey,” Nicola declared, tossing back thick locks of long brown hair over her shoulder and assessing how sunflower yellow went with the shade. “I’ll be gone from this stupid island by the final week of May.”

“Really?” Violet Rodgers raised an eyebrow, looking slightly skeptical. “And where will you be going?”

“I don’t know,” Nicola shrugged. “Paris?”

“I hear people pee in the streets, there.” Lara Knight put in helpfully, to which Nicola flung the dress she was holding into her face and making her fall backwards out of her chair. “Oi! Rude!”

“I could have gone without hearing that.” Nicola snapped.

“Well, sorry!”

Anna laughed and shook her head at her friend's banter. She moved over to some tuxes hanging up, which August was already going through very carefully. 

“You know,” She said, “nothing is going to go with that dinosaur earring.”

August’s hand instantly shot up to their right ear, tentatively touching the glittering green stegosaurus earring they were wearing like they were making sure it was still there. They ruffled, glaring at Anna.

“It’s COOL!” They barked. “God, you are SO RUDE! I don’t even know if I WANT to go anymore!”

“Oh no!” Ari whipped around, sending the train of a rose gold dress they were holding right into Violet’s face. They don’t pay any mind to her sputtering. “No way! You’re going!”

“Anna has demoralized me.” August said. 

“I gave constructive criticism.” Anna defended herself coolly.

“You were MEAN!”

“I am very sorry.” Anna said, putting a hand on her heart. “You’re right. Your fashion sense is very cool.”

August arched their eyebrows at Anna’s golden hoop earrings and impressively realistic fake ruby-encrusted choker and then turned their nose up haughtily. Anna snorted.

“I couldn’t imagine not going to prom,” Lara said. “After not eating since yesterday? And paying so much money for the tickets and preparations?” She shook her head. “It would be a nightmare.”

“Wait--” Nicola said. “Back up. You haven’t eaten since yesterday? Why?”

Lara laughed. “I don’t know!”

“Oh to be one of the girls who jams her fingers down her throat to prepare for prom,” Violet said wistfully, having recovered from being momentarily suffocated by the dress. “That’s a joke. I’m joking. Why would anyone do that?” She shook her head, laughed, and bounded over to some iridescent scarves. “Do you think these go with my skin? Or dress? I already bought it. It’s royal blue.”

“I can’t believe you missed the chance to wear a violet one,” August criticized. 

“Oh, now who’s the rude one?” Anna said and smirked cheekily when August stuck their tongue out at her.

“I think they do!” Bessie said. She had been thoughtfully silent for a while, completely focused on finding the right dress, but finally decided to take a break and join the chitchat. “Here, let me help you with that.”

She padded over to Violet and helped her drape the silky scarves around her neck and chest and arms. They rippled in glittering rainbow shades against her tanned skin.

“You two are HOPELESS!” Nicola barked. She bundled Bessie out of the way and began rearranging the scarf herself. “Haven’t you ever worn a decorative scarf before? They can’t hang this way or else it’ll be hard to move your arms. And, besides, everyone knows a double wrap around the neck is most flattering.” 

Anna, August, Ari, and Lara all burst into laughter as Bessie blinked and Violet held still so Nicola could “properly” adjust the scarf.

“There!” Nicola stood back, admiring her handiwork with a nod of triumph.

“It looks exactly the same.” Bessie observed.

“That’s because you’re gay and have no fashion sense.” Nicola said, bopping her on the nose. She glided back over to the yellow dresses.

“It’s true,” Lara nodded vigorously. “Gays don’t have any fashion sense.”

“Bottoms don’t, either,” Ari added. “Which you are also.”

Anna, August, and Violet nodded in agreement.

“I am not!” Bessie cried. “And I do too have a fashion sense!”

“You nearly threw a fit when that mom character in the school play last fall wore Birkenstocks with a white nightgown,” Anna pointed out.

“BECAUSE THEY DON’T GO TOGETHER!!!” Bessie warbled. “BROWN DOES NOT GO WITH WHITE! AND YOU DON’T WEAR BIRKENSTOCKS IF YOU ARE POOR!!!”

“Sweetie, white goes with everything.” Lara said.

“NOT WITH THAT SHADE OF BROWN!”

There was another loud uproar of giggles. Anna hoped they weren’t causing any disruption or annoying the staff too much.

“Let’s try to keep it down, guys.” She told her friends.

“Oh, Anna,” Violet said. “You eternally sweet female himbo.”

“Excuse me?” Anna snapped.

“Wouldn’t that just be a bimbo?” August said.

“On a different note!” Nicola said loudly, glancing up from a golden dress embroidered with indigo designs over the bust. “Did you guys hear the news? Anne Boleyn really isn’t going to prom.”

There was an immediate swell of cooing interest. Anna chuckled and shook her heads at their constant intrigue in piping hot new tea.

“Really?” Ari said, slightly disbelieved. “I thought she would have, like, sued the entire school board or something.”

“I heard she tried.” Lara said.

“Think she’ll crash it?” Violet asked. “The prom, I mean.”

“It’s Anne.” August said. “You never know with her.”

“Okay, now I REALLY want to point out the elephant in the room,” Lara said. She turned to Anna, and everyone copied. “Anna. Are you really taking Scary Seymour to prom?”

Anna looked up at them from the tux she had been examining. She’s been expecting this topic for a while, but was surprised it came later than she imagined.

“I know it sounds a little crazy,” She said. “But yes. I am.”

“Have you lost your freaking mind?” August gaped.

“Yeah!” Bessie nodded. “If you were that desperate, you should have just asked me!”

They all stared at her in silence, blinking. Bessie flushed.

“What?” She choked out. “Joking!” And then she slapped Anna’s butt and hurried away to another rack of dresses in embarrassment.

“Bottom,” Ari whispered as she went by.

“Anyway,” Anna said. “Kat asked me to, so I said yes. That’s all there is to it, really.”

They all (except Bessie, who was hiding her bright red face in between two purple dresses) looked a little skeptical, but let the topic go.

“Alright,” Nicola shrugged. “Oooo, let’s go look at the jewelry!”

“Ugh, jewelry,” August groaned.

“Dinosaur earring.” Anne reminded them.

“Shut up!!”

“You make it too easy!”

\------

Back in Oxford, it was drizzling again by five that evening. The sound was soothing, but Katherine could tell the white noise was doing little to calm Maria’s nerves.

“Will you stop fidgeting?” Katherine scolded lightly from above her friend’s head. She was helping her style her hair in a very intricate bun, fit with braids and curls and a bedazzled orange clip, but Maria was making it very difficult to do so by the way she kept jittering in her chair. “I’m gonna accidentally pull your hair if you don’t. Or maybe I’ll just do it on purpose. We’ll see.”

“Sorry!” Maria said. “I’m just excited! And nervous.”

“I can tell,” Katherine laughed slightly. “Who were you going with again? William...William Wallow…”

“William Willoughby,” Maria sighed dreamily.

Katherine chuckled at her on-cloud-nine expression. She vaguely knew about the boy she was talking about. He was in her Astronomy class, tall and elegantly handsome with the aloof expression Maria always seemed to fall for. He seemed nice enough from the brief times they had spoken, but so had Richard Mathhews before he cheated on Maria, and Carlos Sanchez before he dumped Maria, and Issac Fisher before he cheated on AND dumped Maria, and--

“Agh, don’t make the face!!” Maria cried, slapping at Katherine’s hands. “I can SEE YOU thinking about all the ways this relationship could go wrong!”

“I am not!” Katherine said, even though she sort of was. Maria wasn’t exactly the best at love, so she just wanted to look out for her.

“You are too!” Maria barked. “This guy is the one this time, Kat! I’m telling you! He’s the one I’m going to marry!”

That’s what she said about Dalton Green…

“Aren’t we a little young to get married?” Katherine pointed out.

“I meant after college and stuff, dummy.” Maria clarified. “After we spend years and years together, realizing we can never live without one another and being so happy…” She sighed blissfully.

Katherine chuckled lightly, twisting together another braid. “If you say so.” She said.

“I did.” Maria said firmly. Then, she sighed, snapping out of her lovestruck giddiness. “I still can’t believe you’re not going…”

“Oh, come on, Mars,” Katherine said. “Cheer up. It’s just one night.”

“I know, but I wanted to go with _you!_ ” Maria said. “I wanted us to hang out with all our friends and have fun and be all wild, but now that you’re not going…” She trailed off with another sigh.

Katherine hadn’t thought of it like that until that moment. She didn’t realize how many people she was letting down by not going.

Too late now, she supposed.

“Don’t let William hear you say that,” She tried to joke to cheer Maria up. It worked slightly, because Maria cracked a small smile. “You’ll have fun.”

“Can’t I sneak you in?” Maria asked.

Katherine laughed. “I don’t want you not going, either, because you got kicked out for trying to smuggle me in.” She finished the bun and stepped back. “There! Now you’re gonna have fun AND look amazing!”

Maria’s smile grew a little bit bigger. She got up from the chair she was seated in, her long orange dress flowing around her, and pivoted in front of the mirror in Katherine’s room, examining herself from all sides. Then, she turned to Katherine with a smile that was finally full.

“Thanks, Kat,” She said. “You’re the best!”

Katherine smiled back at her. “Tell me something I don’t already know!”

“So, what are you going to do with your prom dress?” Maria asked, finally done inspecting herself. She began eyeing all of Katherine’s jewelry and Katherine waved a hand for her to go pick whatever she wanted. She lunged at a golden necklace instantly.

“I’m not sure yet.” Katherine admitted, sitting down on her bed. “Pay my sister back? I feel kind of bad for making her go get it made specially for me, only to not wear it. But maybe I can wear it during a graduation party? Or, I dunno, during your wedding?”

“With William,” Maria sighed happily. “How did your family react to that, anyway? You not going to prom, I mean.”

“Oh,” Katherine said, vividly remembering sharing the news at dinner and having all her siblings look at her like there were elephants parading out of their ears. “They were as shocked as everyone else, but understood my motives. They thought it was nice of me to do this for Joan.”

“It’s like you’re doing charity.” Maria said.

Katherine wrinkled her nose. She didn’t like when it was put like that.

“I guess.” She said uncomfortably, furrowing her eyebrows. “Anyway.” She shook her shoulders out like she was shaking off sticky cobwebs. “Just because I’m not going to prom doesn’t mean I can’t go to after parties. Also, that green does not go with your dress.” _And Anne gave them to me, so wearing them to prom may be a bit weird,_ her mind went on.

Maria looked down at the green earrings in her hand, then set them down. There was hope in her eyes when she turned her head back to Katherine.

“Really?” She asked.

“Yes, really,” Katherine answered. “If I’m awake, then maybe we can go out after prom. Or we can get the gang together and go do something tomorrow. Party at my house! To make up for me not being at the real prom!”

That made Maria absolutely radiant. “Yeah!” She said excitedly. “That would be amazing! Our own mini prom!”

“Exactly.” Katherine beamed. “But make sure you still have fun tonight. And don’t do anything too crazy.”

“Crazy? Me? Really, Kat?” Maria drew herself up, trying to look very mature, but the effect was muddled by the six necklaces she was trying to fit over her head at the same time. “Please. Nothing will happen.”

Katherine chuckled. “I’m sure you’re right.”

But she wasn’t. By the time Katherine realized this, it was too late. Looking back, she wondered if she jinxed it somehow. Because that was the last conversation she ever had with her good friend.

\------

Joan almost cried when she put on her dress for the first time. It was the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen before and was perfect in every way. Pale flamingo pink, with a soft, cross-folded bust that revealed the tops of her breasts ever so slightly and a loosely flowing skirt that reached down to her shins. She particularly liked the long, off-the-shoulder open sleeves, which hung below her elbows like silken moth wings. She couldn’t help but gleefully flap them a few times, imagining that she was actually flying away into a new life.

( _pretty pretty pretty pretty_ )

Judgement watched her from her circular wool carpet. He was smaller so he could fit in her bedroom, but still had his menacing bladed tail and radio voicebox. His broken glass eyes glittered in intrigue in the candlelight when Joan twirled in front of him.

“How do I look?” She asked.

Judgement’s jaw creaked open and he said in a thick French voice, “ _Pretty_.”

Joan giggled. “Thank you, J!” She patted his head, then sat down at her desk, where she had various makeup items set up. She bought them when she was at the department store two days ago, including the dark pink lipstick Katherine Howard had recommended for her. Remembering what the older girl had said, she carefully began applying it to her lips.

Then, the doorknob turned and Mama stepped inside.

In spite of herself, Joan hunched her shoulders in. Even with her newfound powers, Mama still struck fear into her so easily. She flexed something in her mind and Judgement slithered over protectively.

“I should have known it would be red,” Mama muttered.

“It’s pink, Mama.” Joan said.

“I can see your dirty pillows.” Mama went on. Her voice was raspy and distant, disconnected from the rest of her body. “Everyone will.”

“They’re breasts, Mama.” Joan said. “All girls have them. They’re very fashionable these days.”

“Stay here instead, Joan.” Mama strode across the room, her steps frantic and urgent. “Just--just tell me what’d you like to do! We can talk and laugh and I can even sing your favorite song to you. Just don’t leave. Stay here.” 

“I’m going, Mama.”

“That girl doesn’t care about you, Joan. Not at all.”

“She’ll be here at 7:30. Now I need to get ready.” 

Joan had hoped that would ward off her mother, but that was just wishful thinking. Mama got closer, her eyes wide and flashing. She looked absolutely mad.

“She’s going to just build you up to watch you fall,” Mama told her, her words like snakes in Joan’s ears. “Those people are not your friends, Joan. They don’t know you.”

“What if they like me?” Joan said. 

“They’re going to tear you apart, Joan. Just like your father. When they’re done, they’re going to throw you away like garbage.” Mama continued. There was something terribly wrong about the way she spoke and the way she stared at nothing with dead fish eyes.

“They might like me.” Joan said, then more confident, “They’ll like me.”

“You’re such a fool!!”

Joan flinched back, scattering a few makeup items across the desk in fright and nearly tipping out of her chair. Judgement riled up with a flex of her mind, rattling his tail on the floor. Mama settled her tight facial features quickly.

“Joan.” She said softly. She took another step forward and cupped Joan’s cheeks. “Don’t you know how people are? They take you and break you and rape you and then they will leave you.” Her nails lightly graze down Joan’s jawline. “But me? Oh, I would never… I’m the only one who loves you. I’m the only one who will ever understand you. Nobody else cares about you, Joan. You know that. You’ll only ever be a monster to all the others.”

Joan fought to stay out of the trance, but those words were like a sedative curse that numbed her brain. She couldn’t think straight when she heard them. Mama has said them so many times that she didn’t know how to think otherwise. 

And then, Mama’s hands began to glide down her chest, pinching and groping and caressing, her mouth growing closer to her tender neck, breath so hot against her skin, and she shoved her away. Judgement got in between them instantly, hissing static.

“Don’t touch me like that, Mama,” Joan said uncomfortably, hugging her arms around her breasts. “I-I don’t like it. It’s bad.”

“Oh?” Mama said. “Your clothes say otherwise, my dear. Isn’t that what you want? To be touched and loved? You don’t need to go out for that, Joan. I can give it to you here, if you just stay with me.”

“No, Mama!” Joan said, shaking her head furiously. Those words made her feel sick to her stomach, like she was about to throw up. “Please, Mama, please stop talking like that… I don’t like it. I just wanted to look pretty, like all the other girls. Miss Aragon said I am. Why can’t you be like her?”

Anger flashed in Mama’s eyes. Joan whimpered, guarding her breasts with her arms. Judgement hissed again, rattling his tail as a warning.

“ _Don’t. Try anything. Woman._ ” His words garbled together to say.

“Take off that dress, Joan.” Mama ordered.

“No.” Joan said. She turned back to her small mirror and makeup. Maybe if she just ignored her mother then she would go away…

“I don’t want to lose you, Joan.” Mama went on, not taking the hint. “Joan, don’t you see? You were the love I was betrayed for. My pride and my shame.”

( _pride and shame Mama was forced to have me but Mama still loves me_ )

( _Mama doesn’t love me Mama touches me_ )

( _love that’s love that’s love that’s love_ )

( _don’t like Mama’s love Mama’s love makes me feel weird and bad and sick_ )

“You’re making me nervous, Mama!” Joan said miserably. Her hand was shaking badly as she tried to put on some light pink eyeshadow that she hoped went with her skin tone. “Stop it, please. I really, really need to get ready.”

“Take off the dress so we can burn it,” Mama said, her eyes sparkling in an insanely overzealous way, like she was getting a thrill out of this. “We’ll do penance… Yes, yes. Together, on our knees, we’ll pray for forgiveness. We’ll incinerate that damned thing and pray. Together… Together…”

Joan grit her teeth. A headache bloomed in her temples, dull, but pounding like a hammer. She wanted to claw her ears off.

“Mama, go away!” She snapped. She smeared a glimmered line of eyeshadow across her left eyelid and reached for a tissue, rubbing it off roughly. “You’re making me mess up! I need to look pretty so the other kids will like me!”

“No, no, no, no--” Mama shook her head, rocking back and forth on her heels. “They won’t, Joan. They won’t. They never do. Nobody likes you. Only me. Only I love you, my sweet baby girl…” She laughed in a deep, sensual way that made Joan’s stomach churn. “Only I’m allowed to hold you. Only I’m allowed to feel your soft skin. You’re mine, Joan, all mine. And I love you more than anyone ever will.”

Joan glared at her reflection in the mirror. All she had on was lipstick and a very light coating of eyeshadow over her eyelids. The bags under her eyes could still be seen. Her cheeks were still hollow. Some of the lingering bruising on her jaws could definitely be covered some more. She had to put more makeup on.

She picked up some foundation and blush with a shaking hand. The fluffy brush was soft against her skin and tickled slightly. She focused on that sensation, and not the awful lingering feeling of her mother’s hands grazing her breasts.

Mama watched her, expression twitching. Then, she hooked her fingers into claws and dragged them down her face, bringing streaks of bright red blood. She scratched and she scratched, moaning at the ceiling and swaying back and forth. And Joan sat there in front of her, unable to breathe, listening as tears welled up in her eyes.

( _i’m hurting her i’m hurting her i’m hurting her this is my fault my fault she’s sad and hurt and upset because of me i’m the problem it’s my fault_ )

“Mama, stop it!”

Mama’s hands froze. The nails were snagged in one of the many scratches she managed to open up, trailing blood around the fingertips. Her eyes were even wider, like they always got when Joan used her powers around or on her.

“Witch…” Mama whispered, tongue like lead.

“Please don’t call me that, Mama,” Joan pleaded. “And please don’t hurt yourself. You know it’s not going to make me stay.”

She released her mother from her telekinetic grip and sniffled, blinking back the tears. She turned back to the makeup and finished applying the blush, leaving her usually-leached cheeks all pretty and rosy. A tiny smile cracked to her lips for just the briefest moment.

“They’re gonna laugh at you.” Mama said. “They’re all gonna laugh at you. They always have.”

Joan squeezed her eyes shut. Judgement’s wooden body creaked and shuddered. He wouldn’t stop hissing out static.

“I’m gonna have to tell that girl,” Mama went on. “I’m gonna tell her your father took me and you were born of sin. That you’re a creature of darkness, a spawn of Sat--”

“You will say nothing, Mama!” Joan yelled. The entire house seemed to shake around them, the old wood creaking and groaning. The candle on Joan’s desk flickered and flared, the flame wreathing into the air and forming a small snake. 

For just a moment, mother and daughter stared at each other in silence.

“Washed in the Blood of the Lamb,” Mama then whispered. “Many times. Many times he and I--”

“Leave me alone, Mama!”

Mama looked into Joan’s eyes, and there was a terrifying expression on her face. The tiny fire snake lashed in the air with Joan’s growing fear.

“The Lord is not mocked.” Mama said. “Be sure your sin will find you out. The worst sin. A man or a woman who was a witch among you was to be put to death. You are to stone them.” She shook her head wildly, sending tassels of tangled blonde hair whirling through the air. She lunged forward and grabbed Joan’s forearms with her bloody fingernails digging in. “Burn it, Joan! Cast that devil’s read from you and burn it! Burn it! Burn it! BURN IT!”

The bedroom door slammed open by itself. Judgement roared garbled radio static. The fire viper crackled. Joan shook her head.

“No, Mama! I’m going!”

Mama squeezed her forearms tighter and smiled a bloody smile. Her face was red with that blood, dripping and dribbling and drooling. Her expression was so very twisted, but there was something lustful about her insane golden brown eyes.

“As Jezebel fell from the tower, let it be with you.” She leaned forward and sloppily kissed Joan’s forehead, leaving a bloodied print of her hungry lips. “And the dogs came and licked up the blood. It’s in the Bible! They want your blood! Your blood!”

She began to slide backwards without moving her legs. Still, she screamed.

“He can smell the sin on you, Joan! They all will! They will know your name and know the sin you bear!” She howled.

She’s dragged out into the hallway. She grabbed the door frame tightly, but invisible hands pried her fingers away.

“They will all know, wretched devil!”

“I love you, Mama,” Joan whispered. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“JOAN!!” 

The door slammed shut. Mama was released from the telekinetic grip and pounded on it, but Joan kept it closed tightly. After half an hour, Mama gave up. Joan heard her stomp down the stairs and go out the front door.

( _goodbye Mama_ )

Joan sniffled, bottom lip quivering. She looked in her small tabletop mirror and saw that her makeup was being washed away by her tears. She had to reapply it before Anna got there in thirty minutes.

( _hurry hurry need to be pretty_ )

( _not enough time gonna be late_ )

( _Anna will be mad_ )

A shiny glossing of lipstick, a faint dusting of blush, a light coating of eyeshadow. When she was finished, she didn’t think she looked good enough, certainly not for Anna von Cleves, but it would have to do.

She had twenty minutes.

Joan stood up and walked over to the dresser, where she had some jewelry waiting. A light pink bracelet, a rose gold necklace, and her personal favorite item, a beautiful flower crown. She delicately set it on her head, making sure not to mess up her neatly-combed hair, and then managed to smile at her reflection in the mirror.

( _pretty_ )

She went downstairs. Judgement and the fire viper followed her. They both watched her as she put on her pale pink flats and then promptly began pacing around the house.

She checked the Black Forest cuckoo clock. It was 7:17.

( _she’ll be here in twenty-three minutes_ )

Would she?

What if Mama was right? What if Anna didn’t come? What if this was all a joke just to humiliate her? What if she was left waiting all night in her pretty dress and faint makeup and slowly-wilting flower crown?

How would she recover from that?

Simple. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to go on if Anna didn’t come.

She’s considered it many times before. Suicide. She learned that word at school. The slaughtering of one’s self. Knowing it sent a strange thrill through her.

( _a devil dying at a devil hand wouldn’t you like that Mama_ )

She doesn’t know how she would do it. Maybe with the butcher knife Mama tried to cut her tongue out with. She would slice down her arms like she was gutting a fish, like those kids in her Geography class had one joked about, severing every vein so death would be for sure. Or maybe she would turn her dress into a noose (once she learned how to tie one) and hang herself from the roof. Would she die instantly from a broken neck or would she be strangled for several minutes? Would her lightweight body be heavy enough or would she have to swing there and gag until her lungs gave out? Or maybe she could drown herself in the bathtub or drink all the cleaning chemicals under the kitchen sink or eat glass and slowly choke to death on her own blood. Maybe she could set fire to the house and sit in the den, sipping a cup of her favorite tea, letting the flames be her fury, burning and charring and devouring everything about this cursed bungalow that held all her suffering and agony. Then, finally, she would be at peace.

7:27

( _three minutes_ )

Joan sat down at the couch, which was frayed and a little torn from her using it for Judgement’s large body, then instantly stood up again, too anxious to sit. She resumed pacing, trying to keep her breathing steady, trying to keep her nerves from taking over.

( _it’s okay she’s coming she’ll be here_ )

7:28

Judgement watched her carefully. She turned to him, then the tiny flaming snake. She flexed something in her mind and watched as the fire shifted and expanded to form a more bird-like shape. An eagle. Like in Anna’s poem.

7:29

Restless, she began lifting things in the house. First, Mama’s throne chair, then the lamp, then the firewood, then the coffee table. They floated weightlessly in the air, like poised asteroids in outer space.

She was still amazed by her powers. She could raise all these objects, have Judgement summoned, and create an animal out of fire, and not be tired at all. Her heart was beating rapidly and she was sweating and she could feel her body getting lighter as calories and carbs and sugars and fats were burned, but there was so sign of a kickback for using her ability. 

She was Powerful.

7:30

The cuckoo popped out of the clock and chirped loudly.

Joan turned to the front door, holding her breath. 

Thirty seconds pass. No knock. She went to the window and peeked out. No cars. No Anna.

( _it’s okay she’ll be here_ )

( _no no no no no no no no no no no_ )

Joan paced again. More furniture raised around her. She walked into the dining room, where the table wobbled treacherously in the air, and snatched the flower crown from its surface. The petals were pure white and blood red, coiled together with precise weavings of ivy and pulled from the sides of the house. She made it herself, like her own.

For Anna.

7:32

( _not coming she’s not coming she’s out with her friends laughing at you_ )

Joan couldn’t breathe. Tears were welling up in her eyes. Her chest felt like it was about to burst open.

She paced again. Her legs were weak, knees knocking together like silver spoons. She thought she may collapse or faint completely.

7:33

7:34

7:35

7:36

“She’s not coming,” Joan whimpered miserably, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She should have known. How could she be so stupid? Mama was right.

( _i’ll just wreck the house then_ )

Yes… She imagined that. Furniture flying through windows. The pipes being ripped out of place and still squirting. The walls breaking open like the scab over a strained wound. The roof blowing off the top.

( _yes yes yes yes_ )

Joan gripped Anna’s flower crown tightly, crinkling the petals. Judgement and the fire eagle were both growing bigger, swelling up with her increasing power and emotions. She wanted to bring this whole house down until there was nothing left. She wanted to make the damned place pay for everything that has happened to her within its walls. She wanted to--

7:41

A knock at the door.

Joan whipped around. Everything around her crashed to the ground. Judgment fell apart. The fire eagle burned out into harmless smoke.

Anna was here.

Joan wiped her eyes quickly, being careful as to not mess up her makeup. She smoothed out the petals on the flower crown, hoping it wouldn’t be completely ruined.

“Hello?” Anna called from outside.

“O-one minute!” Joan called back, her voice squeaking.

“Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine!” Joan said while frantically looking around at all the ransacked furniture around her. She tripped over a chair and was nearly sent sprawling, but was able to steady herself. “I-I’ll be right there!”

She checked herself one last time, then took a deep breath, removed the silver cross necklace from around her neck, and opened the door.

There she was. Anna von Cleves, in a blindingly white tuxedo with a red bowtie and black dress pants.

“So, did your ceiling just, like, collapse or something?” She asked.

Glass shattered from somewhere behind Joan.

“Yes. Yes, my ceiling just collapsed. Just now.” She answered.

“Woah. Can I see it?”

“...No.”

Joan stepped out of the house fully, locking the door behind her. She went to say something to Anna, to ask her if she looked alright, but the long, shiny white car in the street distracted her from doing so.

A limo. Anna got a limo. For them. For her.

She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was beating so fast she could hear it in her ears. Tears were welling up in her eyes. She could see Anna grinning brightly from the corner of her vision.

Anna leapt forward and down the porch. She walked through the unkept lawn and opened the door to the limo with a grand wave of her arm. Joan couldn’t help but smile widely as she walked over, feeling like an actual princess for the first time in her life.

“You look really beautiful.” Anna said. There was honesty in her eyes. She was telling the truth.

( _i am pretty_ )

“Thank you,” Joan choked out, her voice strangled with emotions. Anna chuckled and wiped away a tear threatening to fall down her cheek with her thumb.

“Do you want your corsage?” Anna asked.

Joan only then saw that she was holding a bracelet of flowers- a corsage, apparently. It was puffy and made out of beautiful tea roses that matched Joan’s dress.

“Yes please,” She answered, holding out her wrist. Anna clipped it on and she took a moment to admire how pretty it was. “I-I made you this.” She held up the flower crown, then immediately prepared to be laughed at, but Anna’s eyes lit up.

“Oh!” She said. “Like yours!”

“Y-yeah,” Joan said shyly.

“Oh, hell yeah! Put it on!” Anna ducked her head and Joan put the flower crown on her with the precision of a steward coronating a new heir to the royal throne. She stood up straight again, fixing her hair for a moment, then looked at Joan. “How do I look?”

“Very handsome,” Joan told her honestly. “Like a druid empress.”

Anna didn’t think this was at all strange, unlike other people would have. In fact, she seemed a little bashful and very, very proud. She flicked some hair over her shoulder and fluffed herself up importantly, adjusting her bowtie.

“Anna von Cleves,” She said in a deep, sophisticated voice. “Druid empress and lover of women.”

Joan covered her mouth and burst into giggles. Anna looked delighted at making her laugh.

“After you,” Anna said, gesturing for the open door.

Joan slid into the limo, amazed at how nice and big and fancy it was. Anna closed her door and then came around the other side and got in. Then, they were off to what Joan could only think was paradise and the best night of her entire life.

\------

“I’m gonna pull the rope when they play the school song.”

Cathy turned her head and looked at Anne. They were sitting in her girlfriend’s G-Wagen at the back of the high school, waiting. Bright lights could be seen glowing from the top of the building, bleeding over the roof. The car still smelled like blood and guts. Cathy had told Anne to spray it down with something, but her girlfriend refused. She was starting to think she liked the smell.

“When the bucket goes, run.” Anne told her. Her voice was disconnected and low, but there was a diseased light lit up behind her eyes. A small smile pulled tightly on her blood red lips. “Don’t stick around for a reaction.”

Cathy wanted to shake her head, but knew Anne would probably see her. That girl was like a serpent, always watching, always knowing everything.

They had met at a pub on Anne’s eighteenth birthday. Something about the drunk-out-of-her-mind teenager was so endearing to Cathy at the time. If she had known that same teenager would turn out to be into hematolagnia and be perfectly okay with killing innocent animals, then she wouldn’t have bought her all those drinks and slept with her the same night.

“They’re more your crowd than mine,” She said gruffly. “No reason to stick around and watch the madness.”

“Wish we could, though,” Anne said with a sigh. “I bet it’s going to look amazing. I’ll have to text Maggie to record it for me.”

Cathy tried not to shudder. She could easily imagine Anne getting off to a video like that. A poor bitch getting dumped with three-day-old pig blood and guts. Anne could get more pleasure out of that than anything Cathy has ever done to her in bed.

God. This felt so wrong. The girl they were doing this to was only fifteen. And she seemed tortured enough by everything Anne had told her. Was this really necessary?

It seemed it was. There was no talking Anne out of this. Cathy was roped into her scheme, trapped in her web, and there was no way of getting out now. She had her chance to run. She didn’t take it.

“If you get caught and you even mention my name,” Cathy whispered into the darkness, voice quivering slightly, “I’ll kill you.”

Anne snorted. Cathy clenched her fingers into shaking fists in her lap. The smell of blood was starting to make her queasy. She wanted to roll down a window.

“I’m serious, Anne.” She said, steadying her voice. “I mean it. This isn’t some schoolyard prank, this is _criminal assault._ We could go to jail for this.”

“Okay,” Anne said with a laugh. “Calm your tits, will you? It’s going to be okay and it’s going to be _hilarious_.”

Cathy begged to differ. She knew Anne would make her beg if she said anything. She shut her mouth and looked out the window. The moon and stars couldn’t be seen at all through the thick wall of clouds blotting out the night sky.

She was never going to recover from this. She had wanted to have kids, but not anymore. Not after doing this to a child.

“Come on,” Anne said. She got out of the car. Cathy followed. They went around back and opened the trunk, where the buckets, rope, and cooler sat. It smelled even worse back there. Cathy almost vomited. Anne looked aroused.

“Get the cooler.” Anne ordered.

Cathy hated that she was being told what to do by a goddamn eighteen year old. She was twenty-one, damnit! She should be the dominant one! But there was something awful in Anne’s eyes that made her feel like she had to cower like a puppy with its tail tucked between her legs.

She picked up the cooler and set it on the ground.

“Hey, watch it!” Anne barked when the cooler jostled. A few trails of blood ooze free from the lid. “You’re going to spill blood everywhere, you stupid shit!”

“Who are you calling a stupid shit?” Cathy said. “This was all your idea…”

“I know that, doll.” Anne said. “And it’s going to be good, now don’t drop anything! If this blood gets lost…”

“Okay, okay.” 

Cathy grabbed the handle to the cooler and began pulling it to the back entrance of the gym. Maggie had apparently left it wedged open when she came in early that day. She wished hadn’t, but she could see the door was cracked open slightly.

“Bless you, Maggie,” Anne said, then laughed. “Oh… Pig’s blood for a pig.”

“What?”

A sliver of moonlight slipped out through the clouds and illuminated Anne’s twisted smile and sick eyes.

“Nothing. Come on.”

\------

The school seemed to be lit up from end-to-end. The night sky, even with the added darkness of the storm clouds, had hues of gold across its horizon. Bright fairy lights lit up the entrance to the prom, which was set up with tapestry-swathed and ivy-coiled tents lining the way. Beautiful flowers were blooming from the vines, dark purple and pale pink and jasmine white, and balloons were tied around the legs of the canopies, shiny silver and metallic gold. Joan was entranced by the outside decorations alone, and couldn’t even begin to think about what it must look like on the inside.

The limo pulled up to the start of the line of tents. Joan could see students chatting outside, meeting up with friends, loudly cooing over dresses and suits they saw. Tickets were being collected at a table adorned with harebells and bird’s-foot trefoils. Through the mass of people swarmed around the entrance, the archway into prom glowed brightly, awaiting new visitors.

“Nervous?” Anna asked.

Joan looked at her, hoping she wasn’t shaking as badly as she thought she was.

“Yes,” She answered.

“Don’t be.” Anna said. She leaned over to Joan, and Joan didn’t even flinch away. Her presence was so soothing. “You’re like Galatea.”

“Who?”

“Galatea.” Anna repeated. “My English class read about her. She turned from a drudge into a beautiful woman and nobody even knew her.”

Joan tilted her head, considering it.

“Treat this like you’re meeting everyone for the first time. Like you’re somebody else.” Anna suggested, wanting to help Joan calm down. “Maybe you should do an accent!”

Joan blinked at her.

“No, actually-- Don’t do an accent.” Anna said. “That’s dumb. Forget I said that. But you know what I mean.”

Joan nodded. “Like _Pygmalion_?” She said thoughtfully.

“Pig what?”

“ _My Fair Lady_?” Joan looked up at her date, eyes gleaming.

“Oh!” Anna nodded. “Yeah, I guess!” She said, even though it was clear she had no idea what Joan was talking about.

Joan shifted. “I kind of want them to know who I am, though…”

Anna gently touched her bare shoulder. “I don’t blame you.”

Joan managed to give her a small smile. Anna’s hand was warm against her skin, comforting. 

“You ready?” Anna asked.

“I--” The words caught in Joan’s throat. She shot a fearful look out the window. “Can we just--sit here--for a few more seconds?”

Anna didn’t even hesitate or look a little bit annoyed. “Yeah, of course.” She said. “Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” Joan whispered.

She sat back against the seat, taking deep breaths through her nose and out through her mouth. She looked out the window, watching all the girls in pretty dresses whirl around with their dates, giggling and bustling inside hurriedly. If they could all do that with such ease, then why couldn’t she?

If she didn’t fall on her face immediately, if she kept her boiling panic attack at bay, then maybe she wouldn’t give the world a chance to see that she was completely a wreck on the inside. More so than usual.

Oh, she could just imagine the snickers now. The teasing and catcalling. She knew that kids would stare at her. She knew she wouldn’t be welcomed warmly in there with all of them, but she would have to hold her head up as high as she could and endure it all. It may be just a dance, but this was the start of something new for her. An opportunity for a change, a better life, real /friends/.

Because if all those girls belonged, then she did, too.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She said hastily. She unbuckled her seatbelt quickly, wanting to get inside before all her gathered courage slipped away from her.

“Uh-- Wait.”

Joan tensed.

( _should have known better here it comes she’s going to throw you away you should have known Mama was right_ )

She turned to Anna slowly. Her date was grinning.

Anna got out of the limo and circled around to Joan’s side. She opened the door with grand flourish, still smiling her head off. Her flower crown glimmered like pearls and rubies in the fairy lights.

“Kat said she would cut off my girls if I wasn’t a proper gentlewoman.” She said.

Joan giggled, even though she had no idea what “her girls” were. Did Anna have daughters? And why would Katherine cut them if she weren’t nice? That sounded a little extreme to Joan… She hoped Anna’s girls would be okay.

“Thank you.” Joan said shyly. She stepped out of the limo, nearly tripping as she was admiring everything from outside. Anna steadied her, then locked their arms together. She was warm against Joan’s side.

“Good?” Anna asked. 

“Good.” Joan nodded.

“Wonderful.” Anna said. “Let’s go.”

They walked under the tents and Joan could feel giddiness and anxiety fluttering inside of her. People were starting to stare, eyes bulging so much they may fall out and mouths hanging open. Joan tried to hold herself as modestly as she could before them.

Anna handed in their tickets to the Year 13 behind the desk, who ogled Joan for a long time. Anna glowered at him to make him look away.

“Here we go,” Anna whispered to Joan, squeezing her arm comfortingly.

Joan couldn’t reply. She was much too excited to muster up any words, so she just bobbed her head enthusiastically.

Arm-in-arm, they walked down the aisle of tents and pushed through hanging tendrils of willow, entering a new world full of colors and lights and music and opportunities. A giant smile broke out on Joan’s lips. Tears of joy filled her eyes.

( _hey look Mama_ )

( _i made it_ )

Everyone in that gym had less than three hours left to live.


	8. Dreamer In Disguise

“Tell us about the night of May 28th. Of the events leading up to the incident.”

Katherine grit her teeth tightly, then exhaled a sharp breath through her nose, releasing her mounting anger. Her eyes were stinging, like fire ants were infested in the sockets and wouldn’t come out no matter how hard she scratched. Her face was still blotchy and washed out from crying, but she held herself as confidently as always, not willing to give into the crime Mulaney so desperately wanted her to be a part of.

“It was meant to be a celebration.” Katherine said strongly. Her voice held no evidence that she had been crying just a few minutes ago. “It was supposed to be the biggest night of our high school lives. The ending of one chapter and the beginning of the next. If only--” Her words caught for a moment, but she would not break again. “If only--”

“If only what?” Mulaney urged.

“If only I hadn’t told Anna to go to prom with Joan!” Katherine exploded, slamming her palms on the table and making even Madeline jump and Mulaney look at her more warily. It pleased her, and she eased back down, steadying her sharpening breath. “Then maybe nobody would have died. But just because I should have done that, doesn’t mean I regret having her go.”

Mulaney’s eyes glinted and he leaned in, hungry for a confession.

“Anna sent me a picture.” Katherine said. She took out her phone and slid it over the tabletop. The screen showed an image of Anna and Joan, grinning brightly at the camera with two other kids, George Boleyn, Anne’s younger brother, and his girlfriend, Jane Parker. “Look at how happy she is… I’ve never seen her smile like that before. So carefree and peaceful…”

She put her phone back into her pocket and shook her head. She blew out a sigh from her nose.

“That’s why I don’t wish I didn’t have Anna ask her.” She said. “She was happy for the first time in her life. Truly happy. And who am I to take that away from her?”

Her eyes began to burn again. She fingered her shredded tissue, a whirlwind of emotions storming inside her skull. She wanted to release it on this skeptical detective before her and show him that she was innocent.

“I hope it was good for her. That prom. Before things went to hell.”

* * *

\------

It was like a dream. An actual perfect dream.

The prom glimmered in droplets of amber and gold, sapphire and jade, obsidian and pearl. Fragments of gods and goddesses and mythical creatures prowled across the walls in detailed murals, capturing ancient battles in their canvases forever.

The gym had been morphed into a huge, vaulted space that hummed with activity. Intricately carved Greek pillars and spires and arches dotted the space, and green and silver drapes of silk dipped from the ceiling. White fairy lights were lit up everywhere, casting soft glows across various tapestries and weavings decorating the walls and architecture. Miniature recreations of temples acted as buffets for the hundreds of partygoers, bearing chips and cookies and cakes and other treats. There was even a large bowl-like piece that was shaped like the Great Theater of Epidaurus, holding salad condiments around the wide sides and lettuce in the middle. A chocolate fountain burbled on a nearby table, the most modern-looking piece of decor in there.

The food temples encircled a giant white fake-marble tree that the origins of were unknown to mostly everyone. The trunk was carved with intricate designs that looked like they had taken hours to scratch away, and the lush shrubbery it bore was braided with silver lights, making the entire decoration a beacon of sterling radiance. Transparent ice blue globes hung from the many reaching branches, lit up with fake candles inside of their hallowed out interior. They glowed like captured moons within the party.

The stage was set up to look like the Parthenon, with white pillars along the apron and wings, coiled by ivy and flowers. Golden and iridescent fabric braided the top, glistening in the fairy lights. A hired band was set up at the center, along with the DJ booth, which played most of the music. Behind them were the thrones for prom king and queen, all shiny and poised, ready for their royals.

Music catapulted around the high, canvas-covered walls like thread winding around and around the assembled students. The sound seemed to swallow Joan up, reverberating in her bones. Partygoers whirled together on the dance floor, the colors of their suits and dresses sparkling in bright tornadoes. They stomped and jumped and clapped in time to the beat of the music, a kaleidoscope of rainbow rhythm.

However, the highlight of the ball were the sculptures. There were at least ten different elaborate carvings sparkling importantly in the party space. Twisting spirals, weaving tendrils, and delicate beads mingled with glorious bells and vast shipwrecks, towering trees and clusters of griffon feathers. Joan wanted to run her hands over all of their smooth, bubbly surfaces.

“Anna.” Joan squeezed Anna’s arm tightly. “Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna--”

“Yeah?” Anna looked down at her.

“Look.” Joan pointed to the sculpture garden with her free hand. 

“Wanna go look at them?”

Joan nodded vigorously. Anna chuckled. They both began to walk over, and Joan nearly dragged Anna when she leapt forward to look at the closest sculpture, a beautiful, branching ice tree with fat orbs of sugary fruit. 

“It’s so pretty…” Joan murmured, her eyes sparkling. 

“No wonder it’s so cold in here,” Anna observed. “They have to keep these from melting. Damn, this must have taken forever.”

“Yeah…” Joan nodded slowly, like she was taking in the secrets of the universe. “Ooh, look at that one!”

The two of them went over to a sculpture of roaring waves with captured pieces of poetry within their depths. Joan ogled at the ice with great interest, taking the time to read every piece of paper inside. Anna patiently let her, smiling at her look of awestruck wonderment. She was glad she was distracted so she didn’t notice all the stares they were getting.

But Joan did. She had picked up on it from the moment they stepped inside. It seemed like everyone in the entire gym was staring at her like she was an alien from outer space. She did her best to ignore all of them, but she could feel their eyes burning holes into her skin.

She’s never felt so exposed before, not even in the showers last Friday.

“Why, Anna von Cleves!”

A voice cut through the music and talking and laughter rebounding throughout the gym. Joan spun around and saw two people approaching them- a brunette boy with amber eyes, wearing a black tux, a silvery grey undershirt peeking out around the collar, and a blood red rose boutonniere, and a girl she didn’t recognize. She was taller than her date and had curled dirty blonde hair and grey-green eyes. Her dress was long and flowing, ebony black like the boy’s but dappled with silver specks like stars. The straps were thin and the bodice was gathered and fitted snugly against her bust.

“George!” Anna embraced the boy tightly in one of those “man hugs” men always seem to do, rapping his back so hard it sounded a little painful.

“You look good enough to eat, honey!” George whistled, looking Anna up and down.

“Some would say I am delicious.” Anna said.

“Okay, if you two knew how many people thought you were dating, you wouldn’t be joking about it.” The girl piped up, looking amused.

“Tell Anna to stop looking so goddamn queer!” George chortled.

“You know I always gotta look a little lesbo.” Anna said.

Then, George raised his fists and Joan flinched back a little. She flexed her powers, prepared to save Anna, but then Anna raised her fists, too, and began throwing playful jabs and poked at George’s stomach and chest. George did the same, and they began circling each other like two tuxedo-clad cats standing off against each other for a dead mouse. Joan realized that it was a game of sorts.

“Don’t let it bother you,” The girl said to Joan. “If they kill each other, I’ll dance with you.”

Joan couldn’t smother the smile that came to her lips. She looked down shyly for a moment, then lifted her head again to watch George’s and Anna’s sparring match. Anna tagged George twice, then got jabbed in the waist. They kept grunting and gobbling playful threats to each other.

“They’re too silly to kill,” Joan observed, tilting her head at them. “Like dinosaurs.”

The girl laughed and smiled, and Joan felt something warm flood through her.

Was this what delight felt like?

“Joan,” Anna said. She and George had stopped fighting and she now had an arm around his shoulders. “This is my best buddy, George Boleyn! And this is his girlfriend, Jane Parker. She goes to Chamberlain.”

She didn’t go to Kingston. So maybe that’s why she was being so friendly.

Joan liked it.

“George, Jane, this is Joan.” Anna continued.

“Joan, hi,” Jane smiled down at the girl.

“Joan!” George exclaimed. “Oh shit. Hey, can I just personally apologize for all my sister’s bullshit? I wish I could say she isn’t always like that, but…” He trailed off with a dry laugh.

“Wait…” Joan began to put the pieces together. “George Boleyn… You’re Anne’s brother?”

George laughed. “Yup. The youngest of the bunch. We have an older sister in college named Mary. She turned out pretty okay.”

“...I’m sorry.”

George burst out into even louder laughter. He shook Anna’s side, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Oh, Anna, I love this girl!” He said.

Joan blushed dark red, ducking her head. Anna grinned at her.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” She said.

There was a light touch on Joan’s shoulder, warm and soft, easy for her to shrug off if she wanted. She turned her head to see that it was Jane’s hand.

“I love your dress,” Jane said. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it.” Joan told her.

“Made it?” Jane gaped, looking the length of the sparkling silk gown up and down. “No shit!”

Joan blinked a few times, then echoed, “No shit.”

Jane laughed. Anna grinned even more. Joan felt like a sinful little rebel.

“You really made that?” George asked.

“Oh, now who’s queer?” Anna said, earning her a smack on the arm.

“I did.” Joan answered George. “I like to sew.”

“You have got to teach me sometime!” Anna said. “I tried before but it didn’t turn out so well. A sweater somehow became a snake warmer.”

They all laughed. Joan felt glee bubbling up inside of her the longer and longer she talked to Anna and her friends. It was so nice to be a part of conversations and share her talents with other people.

“Yeah, of course,” Joan said to Anna. 

“Hey, _ladies_ ,” Said a heavily sneering voice. “And Anne’s brother.”

Maggie, Maria, and a boy came gliding over. Maggie was wearing a pure white toga with gold lace to fit the Greek theme, while the boy, tall and tired-looking, was in a maroon tux. Maria wore a bright tangerine orange dress that had no sleeves and was loaded with fake jewels to make her gown sparkle.

“Hello,” Anna said. There was a sort of warning in her voice, like she was daring the three of them to try something and see what happened.

“Joan!” Maggie exclaimed in a very forced friendly voice. “Wow. You look so...different!”

Joan struggled not to squirm. She didn’t like the way Maggie was looking at her, like she was being sized up. Jane stood tall beside her, a protector of sorts, narrowing her eyes at Maggie.

“Thanks,” Joan mumbled. The bedazzled gems encrusted on Maria’s dress caught her attention and she looked at her in wonder. “Wow… You’re so shiny.”

Maggie snorted. “Shiny?” She said. “Joan, what are you talking about?”

“You made _The Human Tide_ ,” Joan went on, ignoring her. She lifted one of Maria’s hands in her own, tracing the lines on her palms. “Passion and lust, envy and yearning, wrath and guilt…” She looked up at her, eyes shining. “Did you put some Sylvia Plath in there?”

“What?” Maggie said uneasily.

“I-I did,” Maria stammered in an oddly rapt way. “I didn’t think anyone would have noticed… Nobody ever understands my pieces.”

“I’m very observant,” Joan stated. “Charles Dickens and Edgar Allen Poe and lines from the Odyssey…”

“Okay, not you’re literally just saying random names.” Maggie said. She looked at the others. “What is going on?”

“Shh.” George shushed her, earning him an evil glare that he deftly dodged around Anna.

“It was very beautiful.” Joan said, releasing Maria’s hand.

“Thank you,” Maria said, wide-eyed. “That--that means a lot. Thank you.”

Joan smiled at her. She looked at Anna in a sort of glance of approval and Anna grinned back at her.

“This is so fucking weird,” Maggie hissed under her breath, the swept away into the crowd. Maria and her date lingered around.

“Oh, hey,” George suddenly said to the boy in the maroon tux. “I know you from...Trigonometry? You’re William, right?”

“Yeah,” The boy, William, nodded.

“Where’d you get your dress?” Maria asked Joan at the same time.

“She made it.” Jane said.

“I made it.”

Maria looked Joan up and down, sort of like Jane did, then said, “Shut up!”

Joan flinched slightly and bristled. “You shut up!”

Maria laughed. Anna set a hand on Joan’s shoulder to relax her, chuckling slightly.

“Really, you made that?” Maria asked.

Joan nodded. “It’s a really simple pattern. I also got the fabric really cheap.”

“Wow.” Maria said. “Give it a twirl!”

“What?”

“Twirl your dress!” Maria specified, then demonstrated, spinning in a shimmering circle of orange and silver. “Like that!”

“Oh--” Joan blinked. “Okay.” She twirled for them.

Maria gasped loudly. “LOOK AT YOUR ASS!!!”

Joan yelped and leapt backwards against Anna, eyes bulging. George burst into laughter. William leaned to the side slightly to get a look and nodded in approval. 

“Now THAT’S queer!” George chortled.

“Okay, after seeing your ass, the whole ‘nun in street clothes’ thing is no longer acceptable.” Maria said to Joan.

Joan’s bewildered expression does not lessen. In fact, she looked even more confused and startled after hearing that. Jane leaned down to her and whispered, “It was a compliment.”

“You’re glowing,” Maria said. “You really do look great, Joan. So different!”

Joan blushed shyly. “Thank you.”

Someone gently took Joan’s arm. “Let’s go find our table.” Jane said, and began guiding Joan through the crowd. “Yikes. Why is everyone acting so weird around you?”

“I’m not--usually like this.” Joan said. “All nice and pretty and dressed up. I’m kinda weird…”

“I like weird.” Jane said. “It makes you special.”

Joan ducked her head to hide her bashful expression. Jane chuckled.

“Here we are!” They stop at an empty table that was coiled with ivy and violets. Three candles flickered on the tabletop. Anna and George caught up to them.

“They’re really trusting us with real candles?” George said, peering at the small flames. “Not the best decision they could have made.”

“How are you doing?” Anna asked, sitting down next to Joan. “Feeling alright? Need to go out and get some fresh air? I know parties like this can be a little much. With everyone packed together and whatnot.”

Joan’s heart fluttered in her chest. She’s never had someone be so worried about her before. Anna genuinely cared about how she was feeling.

“I’m okay,” She answered. “It’s a lot, though. I’ve never been to a place like this before. It’s amazing.”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Jane put in. 

Joan nodded. “I hope I’m doing okay. Again, this isn’t really my crowd, you know?”

“You’re doing great.” Anna told her. “Trust me.”

“Joan?” A voice called.

George leapt to his feet instantly and dragged Jane with him to go visit with another table, saluting Anna and Joan as he careened away. The remaining duo blinked, then realized what he was fleeing from.

It was Miss Aragon.

The gym coach appeared from the crowd in glistening swathes of gold, like an angel descending from heaven. Her dark brown hair was elegantly curled, framing her makeup-covered face perfectly. The dress she wore was smooth, with no wrinkles or frills, and had short sleeves so her muscles could be revealed to wandering eyes. A black pendant hung around her strong neck, glinting like polished onyx in the light.

“Oh, Miss Aragon!” A smile came to Joan’s face the moment she saw her favorite teacher. “You look incredible!”

“Thank you.” Miss Aragon said. “You look beautiful.”

Joan ducked her head humbly. “That’s very nice of you,” She said. “I know it isn’t true, but thank you anyway.”

Miss Aragon and Anna both ruffled slightly at that.

“Don’t be modest,” Miss Aragon said. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Joan blushed. “Thank you… Really, thank you.”

“Hey, Miss Aragon!” Anna said to the coach.

“Anna.”

Joan blinked and glanced back and forth between the two of them. Why did Miss Aragon look so threatening? Why did Anna look slightly nervous? Was there something going on that she didn’t know?

“You guys want some punch?” Anna said briskly, standing up. She smoothed out her tux and straightened her flower crown. “I heard Henry and Francis spiked it.” She snickered.

“Oh no,” Joan said in a woebegone voice. “Isn’t it dangerous to drink spikes? What if someone chokes?”

“Really?” Miss Aragon said to Anna at the same time.

Anna laughed, then noticed Miss Aragon’s unamused, deadpan expression. She stopped instantly.

“Uh-- No.” She said. “I’m joking.”

Miss Aragon’s expression did not change. Anna cleared her throat, then sidled off towards the food temples. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes and sat down next to Joan.

“So,” Miss Aragon smiled at her. “Is it everything you dreamed?”

“It’s nice.” Joan said.

Miss Aragon laughed. “Just nice?”

“It’s like being on Mars,” Joan admitted. “Now that I’m here, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do.”

“I remember my prom,” Miss Aragon mused. Joan tipped her head in interest. “I went with the captain of the basketball team. She was six foot seven inches tall!” They both laughed. “So, I went out and bought a pair of these Stiletto heels so the kiss goodnight would be less awkward. Anyway, we went in her pickup truck, which of course broke down, so we had to walk the last half mile to the prom.”

“Oh no!” Joan gasped.

“By the time we finally got there, my feet were so blistered that all I could do was just sit there. I was sure I ruined the night, I couldn’t dance, but you know what? We just sat there and talked for hours. And it turned out to be one of the best nights of my entire life.”

“Wow,” Joan said. “I’m so happy for you, Miss Aragon! I’m sorry you couldn’t dance, though.”

“Could have been worse,” Miss Aragon shrugged. “There was this one girl whose boyfriend brought a toy gun so he could pose like James Bond in the picture.”

“Oh,” Joan giggled, despite not knowing who James Bond was. “He sounds like fun.”

“Yeah,” Miss Aragon nodded. “He was arrested.”

Joan stopped giggling instantly. Miss Aragon chuckled.

“But it’s okay.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s just a dance. Not that special.”

Joan nodded. Her gaze began to slide back to the party around them, to the mass of writhing limbs that was the dance floor. Mostly everyone was dancing or talking, but she spotted a few people staring over at her and whispering to each other. Some glanced away when she noticed, pretending they weren’t gossiping about her, while others didn’t even try to make it seem like they weren’t talking behind her back. She turned her head towards them fully, unable to look away, and felt fear and shame bubbling back up inside of her.

( _Mama was right Mama was right Mama was right Mama was right_ )

Miss Aragon smothered those thoughts for her.

“Are you excited for summer?” Her coach asked. Joan turned her head back to her, successfully pulling her attention away. “Then you’ll be in Year 12. One grade closer until graduation!”

“I don’t know,” Joan admitted. “Graduation makes me nervous. I don’t even know what I want to study.”

“That’s understandable,” Miss Aragon said, nodding. “I couldn’t wait to graduate.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Miss Aragon said. “I hated high school.”

“Oh, god.” Joan leaned in. “I do, too. I know you’re not supposed to say that, but I do. I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Preach it to the choir.” Miss Aragon said. “No offense.”

Joan smiled slightly. Miss Aragon took one of her hands and stroked the knuckles with her thumb.

“Just remember,” She said. “Nothing that has happened will matter after graduation. Nothing. Except, you know, things like good grades and studying. You take what you want and leave the rest behind. You don’t even have to see any of these people again if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” Miss Aragon said. “Oh, but I highly recommend the ten year reunion.”

“Why?” Joan asked eagerly.

“Everybody’s different. People will say, ‘Oh my god, so-and-so hasn’t changed a bit,’ but they’re LYING.” Miss Aragon told her, a devilish smirk twitching on her lips. “Everybody changes. And not always for the better.” She scanned the crowd, her smirk curving fully. She leaned into Joan, subtly nodding towards a trio of girls in insanely expensive dresses. “Like, those girls over there? Right now, they’re at their peak. They will never be more pretty or more popular, and in ten years, they’ll be fat.” She snickered. “And the fat girls, some of them will be thin, and the cute boys will be bald. The jocks will have beer bellies-- it’s fantastic!”

Joan dissolved into giggles and had to cover her mouth.

“And the ones who were miserable?”

Joan stopped giggling. She watched Miss Aragon nervously. Her hand was squeezed comfortingly.

“They turn out just fine.”

A grin came to Joan’s lips and she didn’t try to stamp it down. 

( _i’m okay i’ll be okay_ )

“They do,” Miss Aragon said, squeezing Joan’s hand again. “So enjoy yourself, and try not to take it too seriously. Everything is going to be okay.”

Joan vaulted into Miss Aragon’s arms, unable to hold herself back. Miss Aragon chuckled and hugged her back, cupping the back of her head to her chest with one hand and rubbing up and down her spine with the other.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Miss Aragon told her.

“Woah,” A voice said. “I better not catch you hugging any other girls like that!”

Joan and Miss Aragon parted as Anna set two cups on the table, grinning.

“Have a good talk?”

“Uh huh,” Joan nodded.

“We did.” Miss Aragon said. “And on that note- Anna. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

“Sure.” Anna said, sounding slightly guarded.

Miss Aragon smiled at Joan and kissed the top of her head before standing up. She took Anna by the arm and guided her away, far out of earshot from Joan.

“Having fun?” Miss Aragon asked. Her voice wasn’t nearly as loud as the blasting music, but the biting words still cut smoothly through all the noise.

“Yeah,” Anna nodded. “Yeah, I am. I think Joan is having fun, too. She’s making a lot of progress!” She looked over her shoulder for a moment, seeing that Joan was pulled over to one of the desert tables by Jane and George. George put some whipped cream on a brownie, then handed it to Joan, who observed the canister seriously for a moment and then promptly sprayed herself in the face. She dropped the can with an alarmed screech and tottered backwards as laughter erupted around her. She was laughing, too.

“That’s good,” Miss Aragon said, smiling fondly at Joan as she was trying to wipe her face off. “I just thought you should know,” She turned her smile to Anna, “that if you show Joan anything less than the time of her life, I will personally see to it that you are expelled.”

Anna gaped at her, mouth hanging open slightly. All the color drained from her face. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously, leaning in.

“Do you understand the words that just came out of my mouth?”

Anna swallowed hard and nodded. Miss Aragon smiled again.

“Very good.” The coach said, pleased. “Now go get back to her.” She caught Anna’s arm when she tried to walk away. “Oh, and wait for a slow song to dance with her to. She’ll look stupid dancing to anything fast.”

Anna nodded again and was released. She scampered back over to the table, glancing over her shoulder at the coach as she went.

“Everything okay?” Joan asked as Anna sat back down.

“Yeah!” Anna answered. “Yeah, don’t worry.” She looked up as a slower song by Billie Eilish began to play. “You wanna dance?”

“No.” Joan said instantly.

“Oh--” Anna blinked. “Alright.”

“Sorry…” Joan hunched her shoulders in. “Maybe later. But not right now, please? I still wanna get settled in completely.”

“Yeah, of course,” Anna said. “We can just talk, alright?” 

“I like that idea.”

“So…” Anna shifted in her seat slightly. She looked Joan over, then plunged into a question she really hoped wouldn’t upset her date (and make her have to retake Year 13 when Miss Aragon found out), “If I may...how’d you get those scars on your hands?”

“Ah--” Joan coiled her scarred hands into her cowl, looking embarrassed. “Um-- It’s really stupid…”

“No, no, no--” Anna caught her before she could tuck herself back into the shell she was just starting to come out of. “Hey, why don’t I tell you one of my dumb scar stories?”

Joan looked up at her in interest.

“Okay, so--” Anna looked around like she was making sure no one was around, despite there being dozens of people all around them. “I have this little hole in my lower stomach because when I was eight, I put a pencil in my pants and it stabbed me when I went to pee.”

Joan instantly burst out into laughter. It was such a pleasant sound to hear coming out of her, slightly high pitched and adorable.

“Really?” She sputtered out.

“I swear to god!” Anna said, laughing with her. “You can’t really see it anymore, but you can feel the indent of where the hole is. I also have this bad boy,” She rolled her left pant leg up enough to reveal a giant, faded burn scar on her inner thigh. Joan ogled it.

“What happened?” The younger girl gaped.

“When I was 13, me, my younger sister, and my cousin were riding around in a golf cart. My cousin was driving, and he ended up turning in a cul-de-sac way too fast, flipping the entire golf cart on my side. I hit the asphalt and, since I was sitting next to my cousin in the front, that whole loaf fell onto me, breaking his fall and letting him come out completely unscathed. I, however, got this burn.”

“Wow…” Joan murmured. “Were you scared?”

“At the time, oh yeah,” Anna said. “My sister wasn’t moving at all. I thought she was dead. So we got a helicopter air lift to the hospital. That was pretty neat!”

“You aren’t...ashamed of it?” Joan asked softly. “Your scar?”

“I used to be,” Anna admitted. “But it’s a part of me, you know? It’ll only look worse if I try to get rid of it. Besides, it looks pretty cool, and it's not like anyone sees it that often anyway. It’s always too cold to wear shorts.”

Joan nodded. She unconsciously traced one of the webs of scar tissue lacing across her left hand. She looked up at Anna with courage in her eyes.

“I stuck my hands in fire.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Joan nodded. “I found a picture of my father and my Mama threw it into the fire. I tried to grab it and burned myself pretty badly in the process.” She splayed her hands open, revealing the entire spider web of burns to Anna’s eyes. They were white than her already-porcelain skin, like someone had tried to paint over them. “They used to look really bad. All red and peeling a lot. But they’re gotten better, I think.” She rubbed her rough palms together.

“Wow.” Anna said. “That’s pretty metal.”

Joan looked at her strangely. “They’re not metal? This is skin.” She looked down at the scars.

Anna laughed.

“So… Did you know him?”

“Hm?” Joan looked back up at her.

“Your father.” Anna clarified. “If I may. Did you know him?”

Joan shook her head. “No. He left when I was just a baby.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I have his eyes.”

“Oh,” Anna said. “I mean, I’m glad the rumors aren’t true. Not that him leaving is a good thing, it absolutely isn’t, but it’s better than people saying--”

“My Mama killed him?” Joan finished. She looked up at Anna thoughtfully. “I don’t think she did. But you still never know…” She shook her head and rubbed her palms against her dress. “Can we--go outside?”

“Need some air?” Anna asked.

“Yeah,” Beads of sweat were welling up on the crown of Joan’s head. “It’s getting kinda hot in here.”

“Come on.”

The two of them slipped out of the prom through the door that fed into the rest of the school. It was much cooler in that hallway and much quieter, with only dim storm lights turned on overhead. They walked a few paces down until they got to the entrance hall. They sat down on the huge main staircase.

“Are you okay?” Anna asked, gently touching Joan’s arm. There was worry in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Joan answered, nodding. “Trust me. I just need to get away from all that noise for a moment.”

“Gotcha.” Anna said. “It was getting pretty wild in there.”

Joan nodded again. She was staring forward, looking out the huge windows all along the entrance way of the school. The sky was completely black now, even with the layer of clouds, and sheets of drizzling rain could be seen sparkling in the outside lights.

“So…” Anna said, hoping to ease back into some small talk. “What do you want to study in college? I know you’re only in Year 11, but I’m curious.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Joan shrugged. “Is sewing an option?”

Anna laughed slightly. “I’m not sure.”

“What about you?”

“Something with agriculture,” Anna told her. “I kinda wanna be a game warden. I like animals. A park ranger would be cool, too. I could get an entire tower all to myself!”

“That sounds scary.” Joan said. “Being all alone in a tower in the middle of the woods...”

“Don’t put it like that! You’ll crush my dreams!” Anna teased. “I actually thought about being a singer at one point, too. Can you believe that?” She snorted and shook her head.

“A singer?” Joan echoed. “Can you sing?”

“I like to think I can.”

“Can you show me?”

Anna blinked, slightly shy. “Right now?”

Joan nodded eagerly.

“What would I sing?”

“Your poem!” 

“What?”

“Your poem, silly.” Joan said again. “It’s basically a song, you know. Just give it a rhythm!”

“Oh.” Anna blinked. “Right. Okay.” She cleared her throat meaningfully. “Let’s see…

_An eagle's just another bird_

_Until he can spread his wings_

_A river's just a sheet of ice_

_Till winter turns to spring,_ ”

Her voice came out husky and smooth, like molten caramel. Each word flicked languidly off of her tongue, dripping easily into open ears. Joan watched her in amazement and great interest and then, shockingly, began to sing the next few stanzas.

“ _And though the clouds may block the sun_

 _Don't mean that it's left the sky,_ ”

Joan’s voice was soft and slightly raspy, but higher pitched and easy on the ears. It was light and airy and pronounced each word with silky gentleness. Anna was so startled from hearing it that she faltered for a moment. Joan giggled at her bewildered expression.

“What?” She asked.

“You sing beautifully.” Anna blurted.

Joan blushed. “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind. Your poem was just so amazing that I sorta kinda memorized it… Sorry.”

Anna blinked at her in amazement. Nobody had ever been so interested in any of her writing pieces before, not even Katherine.

“No, no it’s okay!” She said quickly. “That’s so cool. That you like it that much. It means a lot to me.”

Joan smiled. “I’m glad.” She said. “Now, what was the next part?”

“Umm… Oh!” Anna cleared her throat again, then began singing once more, 

“ _Just when you think you've seen it all_

 _There's more than meets the eye,_ ”

“ _Like, things I dream,_ ”

“ _And things I feel,_ ”

“ _There’s more to me,_ ”

“ _Than I reveal,_ ” The harmony they pulled off together was like nothing Anna had ever heard before. Her deep alto and Joan’s light soprano mixed together beautifully, sounding like liquid sugar in their ears.

“ _And cause I shine in quiet ways_

 _I'm someone you don't recognize,_ ” Joan sang, a smile twitching on her lips.

“ _I’m a diamond in the rough_

 _A dreamer in disguise…_ ”

They finished in another chilling harmony. Joan beamed at Anna. Anna smiled back at her brightly.

“That...was incredible.” Anna breathed. 

“I know!” Joan exclaimed gleefully. “We sounded SO GOOD! I didn’t even know I could sing like that!”

Anna had never seen her so energetic before. Even Joan never felt this way before, so happy and at ease. She must have come out of her shell a lot more than she thought.

“You’re great, Joan.” Anna said. “We should really hang out more often! Are you free tomorrow by any chance? Katherine, George, Jane, and I were going to have an after party at my house. We have a pool!”

Joan looked absolutely thrilled to be invited. “I would love to go.” She said, eyes glowing. “Do you really mean it, Anna?”

“Of course!” Anna said. “We were also going to watch a few movies, too. Have you ever seen Star Wars?”

“No.”

Anna gaped at her in shock. “Really? You’ve never seen a single Star Wars movie before?”

“We don’t have a TV at my house.” Joan admitted. “What is Star Wars? Is it, like, World War I in outer space?”

Anna burst into laughter. Joan blinked at her in a delighted way.

“Now I REALLY have to show you!” Anna said, wiping an eye. “It’s a date!”

“Yeah,” Joan said excitedly.

They hung out on the main staircase for a little bit longer, discussing plans for the next day and Anna giving Joan permission to wear one of her bathing suits (since she didn’t have her own), then ventured back into the prom.

“I still can’t get over how pretty it is,” Joan said as they walked past a sculpture shaped like temple ruins. “It’s like a dream. A perfect dream.”

The plants were one her favorite parts by far. All around her there were glorious purple exploding star-shaped flowers, delicate pale orange orchids, clusters of petals the color of bananas, odd little orbs in ruby red and sapphire blue. Hanging moss and trailing vines and reaching willow were like curtain doorways to new parts of the prom in all shades of emerald green. And then, there was the tree glowing brightly among all the greenery.

It was so much more beautiful up close. Joan could see all the little details in the pure white trunk, which must have taken forever to get just right. The globes hanging from the branches were the same icy blue as her eyes, she realized, and she blinked at them in wonder. Was the color really that beautiful? 

Looking closer, she noticed something in the hollow of the closest globe. A rolled up piece of paper! In fact, several of the globes had one or more, folded or rolled up to sit inside. There was also a small brown table next to the tree with pens and pieces of paper for anyone who wanted to write something. George was currently doing just that, looking very dutiful as he did so, while Jane waited by his side. She noticed Joan and Anna and perked up.

“There you guys are!” She said. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Sorry,” Anna said. “We just went out to get some air. What are you guys doing?”

“Making wishes,” Jane told her. “That’s what the tree is about. You’re supposed to write a wish or desire on a piece of paper and then put it into one of the fruit things.”

“So the decoration committee can laugh at you when they read all of them after prom,” George added as he was writing. “So don’t mark your name. And hope your handwriting doesn’t get recognized.”

“Wanna write one?” Jane asked.

Anna nodded, then nudged Joan questioningly.

“Sure,” Joan said.

They went over to the table George was hunched over at and each took a pen and piece of paper. Anna thought for just a moment, then began writing something, while Joan hesitated a little bit longer.

She had so many wishes that she thought about all the time. Being adopted into a nicer family, Mama loving her like a normal mother would, having friends, finding her father, getting a kitten… There were so many things to put down, and so little room, so, after a moment of deciding, she wrote, **_“I wish to always be happy like I am now.”_**

She rolled her paper up like a scroll and tucked it into an empty globe. Jane did the same, then Anna, and then, finally, George.

“So, what did you guys wish for?” George asked as they walked back over to their table. “Because _I_ wished for something practical. Money.”

“I should have known,” Jane chuckled. “I wished for an easy, hopefully painless transition into college after summer is over.”

“Eternal love,” Anna said.

“A pet cat,” Joan lied, feeling too sappy to say her actual one.

“That’s a good wish, that’s a good wish,” George nodded in approval.

The four of them began to chat for several minutes, discussing summer plans and swapping funny stories. Joan didn’t have much to share, seeing as her life wasn’t exactly very easy to bring up in a lighthearted conversation, but Anna, Jane, and George each made sure she was included. She was perfectly happy with just listening quietly, but actually getting to partake in the talk felt like an honor she didn’t deserve.

“What about you, Joan?” George had been asking. “Got any embarrassing secrets?”

Joan thought for a moment, sifting out several way-too-dark things to share. 

“I can’t swim,” She finally admitted.

“Woah, really?” George said. “I thought everyone learned how to swim.”

“Where? In school?” Anna snorted. She turned her head to Joan, eyebrows furrowed. “I guess that makes tomorrow’s pool party a little unfortunate, huh?”

“I still wanna come.” Joan said quickly, afraid the opportunity will be taken from her. “I agreed regardless, didn’t I? And I’ll be okay. I just had a bad experience with water one time, that’s all. It’s been years, anyway.”

( _the tepid water and her wrinkled fingertips marked the end of her bubble bath. Mama just checked on her, but her patience had doubled since then. she called for Mama to help her out of the tub, but Mama did not respond. she tried twice more but she heard no returning calls. she decided that she did not really need Mama’s help; she was five and a big girl._

_the slippery acrylic tub and her misplaced feet resulted in her arm roughly slicing on the sharp faucet. a metallic and unknown smell engulfed her. all she saw was red, just like candy apples. so much red falling from her arm and coloring the bathwater. unexplainable fear and pain overcame her. she started to cry and within seconds, Mama was standing at the door._

_she had always been beautiful, but the flour smeared on her face and the stress lines present on her features did not do much for her. the sheer horror on her expression scared her further and transformed weak cries into wailing screams. Mama appeared white as a sheet as they stared at each other, motionless. the tub water was noticeably darker when she started to feel a painful sensation shooting down her arm. in a flash, Mama was carrying her onto the sink counter, swaddling her in a towel that turned crimson red almost instantly. Mama was wearing her special apron and bore a grim look on her face._

_Mama left for just a moment, then returned with something gleaming._

_there was no warning given before Mama started putting a needle and thread through her skin. it reminded her of sewing a dress together. she can only feel a light tugging, but it did not quiet her cries. Mama finally cut the thread after what felt like forever. the cuddles she got after that were like angel hugs. she thought she should hurt herself more often._ )

“What happened?” George asked with great interest. Jane lightly whacked his arm.

“Don’t be pushy.” She chided him, then looked at Joan. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, hun.”

The pet name sent flickers of pink flames glowing on Joan’s ears. Her heart fluttered wildly inside of her chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings for the first time.

“Well--”

( _the shower. the blood in the water like when she was five. her blood. girls all around her laughing, throwing things, humiliating her._ )

“I was twelve, and I snuck away from home to this Christian summer camp because I wanted to make some friends,” She said. “That, of course, went south, and all the kids participated in a game where they would dunk me in the pool until I started drowning.”

Silence filled the table. Joan instantly felt guilty and lowered her head.

“Sorry…” She mumbled. “I-I shouldn’t have…”

“I’m so sorry, Joan.” Jane looked sympathetic and concerned. “That sounds awful.”

“ _Those kids_ are awful.” George corrected her. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Me too.” Anna nodded. She gently took one of Joan’s hands and squeezed it. “That’ll never happen ever again, I promise.”

Joan smiled at her. “Thank you.” She wanted to dive into Anna’s honey brown eyes and catch the reflected flames in there. She wanted to tell her and George and Jane how much this meant to her.

Suddenly, Anna’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, but kept her other hand holding Joan’s.

“Oh, it’s Kat!” She said to the other three. “She’s asking how the night is going.”

“Amazing!” George declared. “Really amazing! Isn’t this prom the GREATEST?”

Jane tipped her head at him and smiled, and Joan realized that THAT was what it looked like when someone was in love.

“It is amazing,” Jane agreed.

“Yeah,” Joan nodded.

“I’m gonna send a picture to her,” Anna said. “Come on, guys! Everyone get in!”

They all huddled together, even Joan, who got snugly sandwiched between Anna and Jane. Anna snapped a picture and then sent it to Katherine, along with a quick text telling her how things were going. By the time she finished, the music had changed into a slow, soothing song, and couples began to group together on the dance floor, including Jane and George.

“Oh--” Anna looked up with a smile. “It’s a slow song, Joan.”

Joan froze, her eyes widening. She began shaking her head, but Anna was already standing up and gently taking her hands. She pulled them back quickly.

“No, Anna, I can't--” Joan stammered nervously. She glanced at all the couples dancing, noting how smoothly they moved, and couldn’t possibly imagine herself swaying among them. She would be much too clumsy. “I’ve never danced before.”

“That’s okay,” Anna said dismissively.

“No, no, Anna--” Joan’s fear was mounting. This was where everything went wrong, this was where things got messed up, this was where her perfect night fell apart--

“Hey.” Anna knelt down in front of her. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just one little dance, and all we do is hold each other and sway. Just like everyone else is doing.”

Joan glanced at the dancers again. It didn’t look too hard…

“B-but what if--”

“Shh,” Anna carefully adjusted Joan’s flower crown so it would be straight again. “Everything is alright, Joan. Nothing bad will happen. Remember: if anyone laughs, I kick their ass.”

That got a tiny smile from Joan. Anna smiled back and lifted Joan to her feet, guiding her onto the dance floor.

“Okay, so you’re going to grab my hand like this. See?” Their right hands clasped together in the air. “And then set the other one on my shoulder.” Joan’s left hand rested on Anna’s shoulder, while Anna’s gently cupped her waist. “And then we sway…” They swayed. “See? It’s easy. You’re a natural!” 

Joan smiled shyly up at Anna. She glanced around them, and realized mainly everyone was too absorbed in their partners to notice she was dancing with them.

“And...if you wanna get fancy with it…” Anna smirked. “We can do the Dancing With The Stars move.”

Joan had no idea what that was, but it still sent lightning bolts of anxiety shooting through her.

“N-no, Anna, no, I can’t--”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Anna hushed her gently. “Just trust me.” And then she stepped back slightly and spun around slowly so her arm would be draped across her torso and Joan would be pressed against her chest. Joan looked up at her with a mix between an amazed and deer-in-headlights look. “See? Easy! Wasn’t that fun?”

Joan nodded wordlessly, lost in her wonder. Her icy blue eyes were sparkling like starlight twinkling on fresh snow. Anna gently uncoiled her and they got back into position.

“You’re a good learner.” Anna told her partner.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered, ducking her head. “Can I spin you?”

Anna laughed. “Sure.”

Joan spun Anna, but ended up twisting their arms quite painfully before the full rotation could be complete, so they had to break away and come back together with unknotted muscles. They both laughed.

“Good first try!” Anna said.

Joan giggled.

A serene silence fell between the two of them as the music went on. They swayed together like a white and pink boat drifting on the quiet waves of the ocean at night. The rhythm they rocked to was conducted by years worth of longing and desire from Joan’s part, and now it was all blooming before her. Everything she’s ever wanted was happening. Friends, a fun night away from home, people who actually give a damn about her… She could feel tears of joy pricking in her eyes and she quickly blinked them back.

“Do you really have to be home by eleven?” 

Anna’s voice, smooth and caring and not a bit cruel, cut though the singing playing from the large speakers set up. Joan looked up at her. It felt like she had just woken up from a nap, that the music had lulled her into sleep and she slipped away into a blissful dream. But it wasn’t a dream. This was real. The bodies rocking around her and the beautiful decorations and her perfect dress and Anna’s hand in her own--it was all real. 

“Yes,” Joan said, processing what Anna had asked her. She frowned. “I’m sorry. I promised.”

“No, that’s okay!” Anna said quickly. “It’s just that after prom, a few of us were going to go to--”

“OKAY.” Joan said, pulling away and hugging her hands in close. 

Anna blinked. “Um. What?”

“No, no, if you want to go off with your friends, I understand. I-I-I don’t want to spoil anything.” Joan sputtered out, feeling her heart sink back into the black abyss it had finally climbed out of for the first time in fifteen years.

“What I was going to say was,” Anna said, taking Joan’s hands again and pulling her back against her. She began to sway again. “If you’d like to, after prom, we could stop at the Blazer for awhile.”

Joan blinked. She suddenly felt embarrassed about how she had jumped to conclusions so easily, that just goes to show how much she truly trusted Anna, but Anna didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never been there.” She said, unsurprisingly. She didn’t go to many places.

“They have the BEST fries!” Anna stated, grinning.

“I’d love to.” Joan said.

“Then it’s decided!”

A smile was starting to come to Joan’s lips, one that felt like it would stay there for the entire night no matter how hard she tried to smother it. After years of vicious bullying and constant teasing and unfriendly looks, she suddenly found herself wrapped in attention and warmth. Anna or Jane or George didn’t hate her or were afraid of her like Mama had said at all. More than that, they seemed to actually _like_ her. They were talking to her and being nice to her and making her laugh, and none of it seemed forced in even the slightest way. They were making her forget, for all these hours, how miserable she had been and how miserable she truly was. The pain was numbed.

For once in her life, for the first time in fifteen years, she truly felt happy.

“Thank you.” Joan whispered, breaking another few peaceful seconds of silence between them.

“What for?” Anna asked, tilting her head slightly.

“For everything.” Joan clarified. “For taking me to prom. For the limo. For being so nice to me.” The tears were coming back, but she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to blink them back this time. “I know you don’t like me like that, and I know it’s only one night, but…” She looked up at Anna, her eyes sparkling. “I’m glad I got to be your date tonight.”

“Me too.” Anna said, taking Joan by surprise.

“R-really?”

For a moment, Anna frowned at her disbelief, but then she shook her head and chuckled slightly. 

“Of course,” She said. “I’m having the best time with you.”

“B-but what about Katherine--” Joan stammered, her voice catching in her throat.

“Katherine isn’t here right now,” Anna said, wiping away the tear that rolled down Joan’s left cheek. “Tonight, you’re all that matters to me. I’m going to make sure this is the best night of your life. And the nights and days and everything else after that. You aren’t alone anymore, Joan.”

That’s what broke Joan.

The girl whimpered, bottom lip quivering, and a cascade of sparkling silver tears began pouring down her face. Anna cupped the back of her head and brought it to press into the crook of her neck for security. Joan cried steadily, thanking her over and over again through squeaking sobs.

“How about this?” Anna said when Joan began to quiet down and was able to pull her head back. Her makeup was slightly smeared, but Anna still thought she looked amazing. “We dance for a little longer, see what poor fools get elected as prom king and queen, and then head to the Blazers for a bite to eat. And I’ll have you home by eleven.” She smiled warmly. “How does that sound to you?”

Joan nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Joan squeaked. “Maybe eleven-thirty…”

“Whatever you want.”

“Eleven-thirty.”

Anna smiled even more. “Wonderful.”

They fell into blissful silence as the song began to wrap up. Joan’s eyes were starting to sting, but she didn’t care. She tucked her head underneath Anna’s chin and rested her head on her chest, relaxing. Anna swayed them both gently, acting as a protective barrier that Joan never wanted to be away from.

The song soon ended and the two of them parted. George and Jane bounded over to them, with George grinning his head off and tapping his feet energetically. Jane rolled her eyes at him fondly, then smiled at Joan and Anna.

“I saw you guys dancing,” She said. “You were really good for your first time! This one,” She jerked her head at George, “tripped on MY FEET and dragged me to the ground when he fell the first time we danced together.”

Anna and Joan laughed. George was not fazed by his girlfriend spilling embarrassing things about him. In fact, he seemed a little proud.

“It’s going to be funny to tell our kids one day!” He said.

“Oh, you,” Jane rolled her eyes again and poked his nose. “Oh, Joan. Your makeup smeared.”

Joan blinked and lifted a hand to her face. “Oh dear,” She murmured in dismay.

“Not to worry!” Jane waved a hand. “I have some makeup in my car. I can help you fix it.”

“Really?” Joan said. “Thank you.”

“No problem, lovely!” Jane said. She gently took Joan by the arm. “Anna, I’m going to borrow your girl for a moment. George, don’t do anything dumb.”

“Yes sir!” George beamed. When Jane and Joan whisked through the crowd and out into the parking lot, he sighed lovingly, “I love her so much…”

Anna laughed and patted his back. “I can tell!”

Meanwhile, in Jane Parker’s blue Hummer, Jane was dutifully applying fresh makeup onto Joan’s youthful face and thinking back to some of the things she overheard Anne Boleyn saying about her when she was over at the Boleyn residence to hang out with George. The young girl before her didn’t look ugly at all, despite what Anne had said, nor did she look like a freak. Her eyes may be a strange color, but they were the most beautiful shade of blue Jane had ever seen before.

Jane suspected that, deep down, Joan actually enjoyed the kind of pampering she was giving her in the car, despite the distrust in her eyes as Jane drew near with a mascara wand. Not that she needed anything more, but still. Little Miss Five Minute Skincare had obviously missed out on a lot of the girly stuff that had saturated Jane’s existence since birth.

It made sense, though. From the rumors she heard and from everything Anne griped about, she didn’t have a normal upbringing like most people should have. Something much darker lurked beneath those silly stories.

Something terrible has happened to this girl.

And, judging by the “hideous” hand-made flannels Joan apparently wore quite often to school, her mother hadn't been much of a fashion mentor either.

Once Jane had achieved the smoky eye effect she wanted, she applied some gloss to Joan’s lips. The girl had quite an amazing tone to her mouth. Pity it was drooped in a sullen pout at that moment.

Jane leaned back to admire her handwork.

“Well?” She adjusted the rear view mirror down so Joan could see her reflection. “How does it look?”

“Pretty…” Joan murmured. “But it feels like I have dirt on my face.” She pouted adorably again.

Jane laughed. “Makeup has that effect, unfortunately.” She said. “But you look lovely. Now, come on, let’s get back inside.”

They journeyed back into the prom, chatting idly as they went. Joan was smiling again, but her hands kept twitching like she wanted to rub her eyes. This was probably the first time she’s ever worn mascara, Jane realized.

“Wow,” Anna murmured breathlessly when Jane and Joan got back to their table. Even George looked a little starstruck at the newer, better makeup applied to Joan’s face.

“Do I look alright?” Joan asked shyly.

“Better than alright!” George said.

“You look beautiful.” Anna added. “Gorgeous.”

Joan blushed bright red. “I’m glad.” She said. “Because this black stuff is making my eyes sticky. And itchy.”

“That’s mascara, sweetheart.” Jane corrected her.

“It’s AWFUL.” Joan said. “Do girls wearing makeup always have to feel this? How do they do that? I’d rather pluck all my eyelashes out!”

Jane, Anna, and George laugh. After a moment, Joan joined them, giggling.

“I’m going to go grab a drink,” Anna said, parting from the group and going over to the bufett temples.

“Excuse me?”

Anna spun around and found herself facing a young woman, maybe a Year 12 or Year 13, with tassels of red hair and striking smoky grey eyes. Her dress was scarlet, accenting her hair perfectly.

“Sorry,” She said, smiling slightly, “I just had to ask before I made a fool of myself. Are you two a couple?” She nodded in Joan’s direction.

“What? No!” Anna barked. The laugh came out more harshly-sounding than she meant, making her instantly guilty. But she was right- she wouldn’t date Joan. She was too young for one, and for another, she was already with Katherine.

The redhead was devouring Joan as the girl giggled over something George was saying, effortlessly adorable.

“No, we’re not a couple,” Anna found herself repeating as the redhead purred her appreciation. “But Joan” Anna couldn't resist. She really wanted Joan to open up to new people. “…Joan’s a total stud.”

God, that felt a lot weirder to say than she expected. She did NOT like that.

“Really?” The redhead’s gaze shot to Anna’s face and then back to her object of attraction. “Joan?” She teased the name with her tongue. “God, she's cute. Do you think I have a chance?”

Anna shrugged and sipped her drink to stifle a giggle. To be honest, she didn’t actually know. She had never ever seen Joan with anyone romantically before, making her believe she was a raging asexual or mother-superior-in-training.

The reality was that Joan was left tongue-tied by male and female nudity alike. Two years into high school gym, and Anne would say she STILL averted her eyes when changing out with other girls in the locker room. She was just hopelessly shy when it came to all matters sex-related.

“She may play hard-to-get.” Anna finally said.

“Ah,” The redhead nodded slowly. She chuckled. “Thank you.” Then, like that, she glided back off into the mass of writhing limbs that was the prom. Anna respectfully waited ten seconds after she left to snort her laughter.

“You’ve got some fans, Jo,” She said, walking back over her friends.

“What?” Joan blinked up at her innocently.

“I think someone has a crush on you.”

Joan’s face flamed red instantly. She stammered on a reply, but all her words came out squeaking.

“O-oh.” She choked. “Nice?”

Anna chuckled and patted her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it was nothing. And you can always say no.”

Joan nodded. A second later, the music switched to an upbeat Lady Gaga song. George began to bound excitedly.

“Oh, I LOVE this song!!” He yelled. “Let’s dance!”

Anna glanced at Joan, who appeared to be a little more confident at dancing. They all moved to an emptier spot on the dance floor and began to dance.

“Come on, Joan!” Jane encouraged, noticing that Joan was just bobbing her head to the beat of the song. “Shake that bony white ass!”

Joan was flabbergasted at that, but was motivated to get a little more into the song. Anna, Jane, and George all clapped and cheered for her as she did so.

Unbeknownst to them, Maggie watched on with Bessie at her side. Bessie’s amethyst purple dress went with her bleached white hair surprisingly well, but Maggie wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not, seeing as Bessie’s head was filled with quite a few moths. Anthony was somewhere in the crowd near the food temples, lost in the cluster of black tuxedos so much like his own, fetching drinks like Maggie had asked.

“God, just look at them.” Maggie sneered in disgust, watching Joan dance like an idiot and Anna, Anne’s younger brother, and Anne’s younger brother’s girlfriend actually make it seem like they liked her. “Couldn’t you just vomit?”

“I can’t believe Anne is missing this.” Bessie said, wide-eyed. Maggie definitely saw flickers of longing and jealousy in her dark brown eyes; she wasn’t exactly very subtle with her big gay crush on Anna von Cleves.

“Trust me, doll,” Maggie said dismissively. She shot a smirk at the stage. “She isn’t missing a thing.”


	9. Alma Mater

“We found these in the dumpster behind what’s left of the gym.”

Bessie recoiled so sharply in disgust she nearly fell backwards out of her chair when Mulaney dumped several pieces of paper onto the table in front of her. She looked at the pile as if it were made of actual human hearts, wrinkling up her nose.

“I can’t believe you touched those!” She exclaimed in an almost humorously repulsed way. “They’re probably swimming with diseases.” 

“Recognize them?” Mulaney asked, sitting across from her.

“They’re prom ballots,” Bessie said with a dismissive shrug. “I’m the one who Xeroxed them.”

“According to these, Ruby and Leila won prom king and queen.”

Bessie blinked at Mulaney in shock, as if he had just told her the secrets of the universe. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish caught on a hook, then she sputtered out, “I-I counted those ballots myself. Principal Holbein checked my work! You can ask him...yourself…” She trailed off with a grimace, hunching her shoulders in and looking away. For a moment, she looked a lot younger, and a lot more shaken than she thought she was.

“Anna and Joan won fair and square.” She finally spoke up again, although there was a not-so-subtle shakiness to her voice. Madeline gave her a sympathetic look.

“I’m guessing by a landslide?” Mulaney asked.

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

“I just thought they were pity votes.” Bessie said, shrugging.

“They weren’t pity votes, Elizabeth.” Mulaney told her grimly. “Someone switched the ballots.”

* * *

\------

“Attention! Attention, everyone!” Bessie called jovially from the stage. The mic she was using gave a few abrupt screeches of feedback, so she tapped it with a manicured finger. In the fairy lights, her dress glistened in shimmering waves of purple and made her look like a walking amethyst. “Can I have your attention, please!”

The DJ cut the music off hastily. Everyone inside the gym quieted down one by one and turned their heads to the stage. Bessie’s hair was blindingly white in the light.

“Thank you,” She said, then raised her voice excitedly, “We will now be voting for this year’s prom king and queen!”

“This contest insults women!” Margery Horsman shouted from near the globe tree. There were a few scattered applause and one loud, whooping cheer from a girl who must have been her friend.

“It insults men, too!” Francis Dereham piped up mockingly. Laughter followed, along with several eye rolls.

“Take your seats, please!” Bessie went on loudly. “Time to vote!”

Everyone began to swarm back to their respective table as Maggie and two other girls started to pass out prom ballots and small pencils. Anna, Joan, George, and Jane were already sitting, recovering from their intense dance session and playing Spoons with a deck of cards George had brought in (“I still cannot believe you brought cards to prom.” “I never leave home without ‘em! You know that, Anna!”). As far as games being played at a school party went, it definitely wasn’t the lamest option they could have gone with.

“Aha!” Jane exclaimed, seizing one of the three plastic spoons on the table after she got a match of four aces. George looked up at her lovingly. “I have totally figured out this game! I am the new Spoons champion!”

“Ow!!” Anna yelped. “You SCRATCHED me!” She had been trying to grab one of the other spoons when Jane’s fingernails raked viciously over her hand. She rubbed the scraped skin tenderly, giving Jane a playful pout.

“This is a very violent game,” Joan observed. When someone got a match of four cards, they were supposed to grab a spoon as quick as they could, prompting everyone else to do the same, which resulted in some mayhem. Especially because there were four players and only three spoons, so clawing and yanking and merciless tug-of-war would sometimes happen as a result. There was even a moment where they all lurched forward at the same time and bonked their heads together.

“What can I say?” Jane said with a shrug, flicking her spoon back and forth. “I play to win.”

At that moment, Maggie came around with ballots, setting four papers and four pencils on the table for them. Before she whisked away, she declared a louder-than-necessary, “GOOD LUCK!” into Joan’s ear. Joan rubbed her ear uncomfortably as Anna and Jane both glowered after Maggie, then examined the ballot in front of her. Her mouth dropped open.

“Anna,” She whispered shakily, grabbing onto Anna’s arm tightly. “W-we’re on here!”

“I saw that,” Anna said.

“Woah! Congrats!” George beamed.

“Can we decline?” Joan asked anxiously.

“Hell no!” Anna said, laughing slightly. “If you win, all you do is sit up there on those thrones for the school song, wave some scepter around, and look like a jackass.” 

“Oh, and then you get your picture taken for the yearbook so everyone could see that you looked like a jackass.” George added. He, Jane, and Anna laugh lightly. “You also get to lead a dance! So that’s pretty cool.”

“Well...who do we vote for?” Joan asked Anna. “They’re more your crowd than mine. I don’t really have a crowd.”

“Ourselves, duh!” Anna said.

“Isn’t voting for yourself like voting for Ralph Nader?” George asked.

“Who’s Ralph Nader?”

“Well, I’m voting for you.” Jane said to Joan. She smiled and checked off Joan and Anna’s names.

“Thanks,” Joan whispered, ducking her head shyly. She glanced over at the thrones on the stage and couldn’t help but be enamored by them. They were so sparkly and pretty. “They are beautiful…”

“ _You’re_ beautiful.” Anna grinned, taking Joan by surprise. She would never get over the shock of hearing someone say that to her. “To the devil with false modesty.”

Joan smiled. “To the devil,” She said, and checked off her and Anna’s names.

\------

“Look at how she’s smiling. Stupid little cow.”

Cathy peered over the shrouded edge of the catwalk they were hiding on. She could see Joan Seymour, the poor bitch this prank was on, playing cards at one of the tables with Anne’s younger brother, his girlfriend, and Anna von Cleves. Her dress was beautiful, Cathy had to admit, and she looked so happy.

It was such a shame it was all about to be ruined.

The buckets were poised and ready.

“God, and my stupid brother.” Anne rolled her eyes. “I should have known he would befriend the resident freak.” She shook her head and turned to Cathy, smiling again. “Are you ready? It’s almost time.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Cathy mumbled, feeling ill.

“Oh, cheer up.” Anne nudged her. “We’re just playing a little joke! Nobody is getting hurt!”

“Anne, this is--this is _sick_. Really, really sick.” Cathy said. “If we get caught--”

“We aren’t going to get caught.” Anne said firmly. “Calm down, will you? It’s not that bad. We’re just gonna give her a little scare, that’s all.”

Cathy shook her head and cast a dark look at the two metal buckets. She could still smell the contents from her spot, the scent of three-day-old pig blood and guts wafting heavily in the air. It was a miracle nobody else on the stage had smelled it yet.

“Do you really think they’ll vote for them?” She finally spoke up again, glancing at her girlfriend. In the dim light, only half of Anne’s face could be seen, and there was madness reaching out of that amber eye.

“Of course,” Anne answered her. “I set it up. Nobody else will even be close.” She smiled wickedly. “Do you want to pull the rope?”

\------

Katherine was restless. It was starting to worry her sister, she knew. She kept getting up in the middle of the movie they were watching and would pace around the living room like a lion in a circus cage. She couldn’t help it- something felt off.

“Kit?” Isabel called. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Katherine replied, shaking out her wrists as if they were crawling with caterpillars. “Just a little anxious, that’s all.”

Isabel paused the movie and turned to her completely. “About the prom?” She asked.

“What else?” Katherine sighed. “I texted Anna and she said everything was going fine, but still… I’m worried about Joan. I hope she’s having a good time.”

“I’m sure she is,” Isabel said. “You’re letting your Mum Friend status get to you too much.”

Katherine managed to laugh. “Maybe.” 

She took out her phone and checked it for what felt like the tenth time that evening. Just like last time, there were no new messages. Just her reply from Anna after she reacted to the picture that was sent, which was marked as “read.” Anna must have been too busy having a good time to text back, which was good. She was giving Joan her full attention. But what if she wasn’t answering for a different reason…?

“Ugh--” Katherine collapsed down on the couch next to Isabel, who looked quite amused. “Anxiety SUCKS ASS.”

“Preach it, sister.” Isabel laughed. She patter her shoulder with a tender smile. “It’s going to be okay, Kat. I’m sure everything is just fine.”

But she was wrong.

\------

“You really make all your own clothes?” George was asking with great interest. After Maggie had come around again and picked up the marked prom ballots, the group decided to take a small break from Spoons to let their maimed hands rest and stop burning. Now, they were just chatting idly, talking about random things as they waited for the score to be tallied up.

“Yeah, most of them,” Joan answered, nodding.

“That’s so convenient.”

Joan smiled shyly. “Yeah. Sorry I’m not better at conversations. I don’t have a lot of interesting stories.”

“No worries!” George said dismissively. “You’re much better company than most of the people here. Some of them don’t know how to keep a secret.” Then, he turned his head and shot an irritated look at a boy in a dark navy blue suit at a navy table. “And SOME OF THEM think very HIGHLY of themselves.”

The boy in navy blue whipped his gaze around and narrowed his eyes at George.

“I can HEAR you!” He shouted.

“We all can!” Piped up someone else.

“I KNOW.” George shouted back. “We’re in a GYM! But I’m having a PRIVATE CONVERSATION, so stick your nose somewhere else!”

“Then why did you look at me?!” The boy in navy blue cried.

“Because I was MAKING a POINT to my FRIENDS!” George snapped.

“You WISH you had friends!”

“Go suck a LIME!”

“Now, now,” A teacher chaperone said in a bored voice. “Settle down.”

George turned his head back to the table and smiled. “Anyway,” He said, his voice all sweetness again, “Where were we?”

The other three burst into laughter.

And then, silence was called over the gym. 

“Attention, everyone!” Bessie said into the mic. “It’s time to announce the elected prom king and queen!”

There was a drumroll as Bessie excitedly pulled out a slip of paper from an envelope. Everyone held their breath in anticipation.

“ANNA VON CLEVES AND JOAN SEYMOUR!!!”

Anna, who had been mindlessly taking a sip from her cup, not thinking much of the election, spit her drink out in George’s face. Joan froze, her eyes opening wider than possible. All heads turned to her table. Gasps and murmurs whisked through the crowd. The gym went very quiet.

And then, there was a huge, booming, explosive eruption of applause that seemed to shake the walls like thunder. Everyone began to clap and cheer loudly, roaring into one big celebratory mass of noise. One person even yelled, “Yeah, go Anna! Go, Joan!”

Two student body members dressed in (school appropriate) togas, a boy and a girl, walked over to the table, smiling. Anna laughed and stood up with her arms spread in a queenly gesture of sorts, and the crowd went wild, shrieking their support. George, who quickly recovered from being sprayed with mouth soda, was beaming in pride for his friend and Jane looked both a little stunned and absolutely thrilled. Anna nudged Joan’s side and then extended her elbow for them to lock arms, but Joan did not get up. She was far too starstruck to stand at the moment, lost in the whirling of the radiant, overwhelming glee rocketing through her. She had never been clapped for before like this, nor had she ever been so joyful in her entire life.

Prom Queen. Her. Joan Seymour. She was Prom Queen. A queen. Royalty. Important. _Her_.

It was a dream come true.

Anna gently grabbed Joan by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, effectively snapping Joan out of her daze. She still remained breathless and dazzled, however, as the entire prom screeched for her when she finally got to her feet. She nearly fainted from joy right then and there, but managed to cling to her consciousness. She grappled onto Anna’s arm, a smile coming to her lips that she knew would not be leaving for a while.

The two of them, escorted by the toga-clad student body duo, began to stride through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea when they passed. The band boomed and swelled into a loud, upbeat melody. The audience continued to applaud and scream and cheer. Any sarcasm was lost to its cacophony; this was honest and deep and genuinely happy for the elected pair. Someone whistled. Someone else patted Joan’s bare shoulder as she passed by. Miss Aragon, at the edge of the trench of students, looked so proud.

Tears were welling up in Joan’s eyes. Her mouth was starting to hurt from smiling so widely. Has she ever smiled for this long before? She doesn’t think so. She hoped she wasn’t hurting Anna, she was hanging onto her arm really tightly. Anna didn’t seem to mind, though. The older girl was practically glowing in the fairy lights, like a goddess of sorts.

They reached the short flight of stairs to the stage, where Bessie and Principal Holbein were waiting. The thrones were pushed up to the front arches of the decorative Parthenon, glistening in the spotlights poised on the apron. They were inlaid with gold and fake jewels and were so much more breathtaking up close.

“Come on up, you guys!” Bessie shouted over all the noise. She beamed at Joan as Anna helped her up the steps, then turned to shake hands with Principal Holbein. “You look so beautiful! Congratulations!”

Joan couldn’t possibly must up a reply with all these endorphins sprinting through her, so she just smiled even wider, if that were even possible at that point.

She and Anna were whisked over to the thrones (but not without Bessie launching herself into Anna and hugging her very tightly). A silver scepter was thrust into Anna’s hands by the boy student body member in the toga, while the girl swept a furry velvet and sunflower yellow cloak with a puffy collar around Joan’s shoulders. They sat in the thrones and another ear-splitting bout of applause broke out.

Joan was glad to be sitting. Her legs were shaking and her knees felt weak. She was dizzy from shock and bliss and excitement.

( _look at me Mama look at me_ )

( _i made it_ )

( _i did it_ )

The crowns were taken out on big wine red pillows. Both were encrusted with surprisingly realistic looking diamonds and glittered like captured rainbows in the light. Joan nearly sobbed when her tiara was set on her head and she reached up to touch it instantly, just to make sure it was there and real. And it was. The jewels were smooth and bumpy beneath her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna grinning at her affectionately.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bessie said energetically into the mic, “your king and queen on senior prom! Anna von CLEVES and Joan SEYMOUR!”

The audience _howled_. Anna laughed. She stood up and thrust her scepter into the air.

“Long live King Anna!!!” Someone yelled.

“SPEECH!!!” Someone else, George from back at the table, cried out.

Anna grinned brightly in his direction.

The band cracked and rose into a fever pitch as the school song was played. The audience began to sing along to the music, their hundreds of mixing voices spiraling into a cloud of haunting sound. Anna basked in it, her chest puffed out with pride, then turned and gently gathered Joan to her feet so she could bathe in the glory with her. Joan probably would have crumpled right to the floor if Anna hadn't helped her up.

It was such a dizzying feeling, being the center of so much positive attention when it was usually all so negative. All these people were cheering for her, Joan Seymour. And they didn’t look to be doing it mockingly at all. They liked her. They really, really liked her!

( _i told you Mama i told you_ )

“Long live Queen Joan!!” Shouted the person from before. 

“Queen Joan!!!” Someone else whooped gleefully.

Joan was shaking all over. She knew everyone could see that she was, but it wasn’t deterring their applause. They just kept clapping and cheering and singing, even as she quivered like a leaf in a hurricane.

But unbeknownst to her, among the crowd, Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee were smirking rather than smiling. Maggie kept glancing up every few seconds, which caught the attention of Jane, who began to sidle over slowly to see what she was looking at.

Bessie waved her arms and all the noise began to diminish. She turned to Anna and Joan, still grinning her head off.

“Your Highnesses,” She said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Like that, the cheering started up again.

The toga boy took Anna’s staff from her, but Joan’s cloak was left on. Anna extended a hand and Joan took it as the lights around them faded to soft blue and light purple. They walked slowly down the steps and onto the center of the gym floor, where they pressed against each other and began to dance in long, graceful movements. The band played an airy melody of violins and flutes, which Joan didn’t even realize they had, but she could hardly care. She was too wrapped up in dancing with Anna to care about anything at this point.

Her legs trembled, unsteady, unpracticed, fawn-like. Her head spins and her vision blurs with the opposite of vertigo. Her hands clasp tightly at Anna’s and her shoulder, like the older girl was an island out in a raging black ocean. Moats of silver dust float like moths in the rays of light beaming from the spotlight, and she had never been more awash in radiance. 

Anna’s hand is warm on her waist and she looked up at her, dry lips parting with a slight pop. Anna tilted her head at her and smiled, the corners of her mouth held aloft by the spotlights. Her fingertips trail over Joan’s veins, bluer than hers, rivers snaking beneath her skin and crisscrossing the imperfect planet of her body. 

But Anna doesn’t care.

Each sweeping step they take gave Joan more confidence and made the world come a little more into focus. This was all Joan has ever wanted- being held so gently, being loved despite her flaws, being wanted and needed and swayed like she is. Anna doesn’t care that she’s touching her, Anna doesn’t care about the roughness of her scarred palms, Anna doesn’t care that she wasn’t at prom with her girlfriend.

Anna cared about her and her alone. Nothing else in the entire universe mattered to her. And that was a dream come true.

Anna coaxed her closer in that honeyed voice of hers that makes Joan feel all fluttery inside, whispered that she wanted to show off to all these loons, and Joan does as she's told, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, searching for stable ground as they whisked in loops inside the circle of students crowded around them. 

“Anna?” Joan whispered.

“Yeah?” Anna looked down at her, still smiling with so much affection for her.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Joan.”

Joan was still shaky but that’s okay. If she fell, Anna would surely catch her.

There was a blooming warmth on Joan’s hand and she looked at it, and that’s when everything fell to pieces. Shafts of burgeoning gold cut through soft silver and burst outwards, filling the gym in blinding yellow waves. Violin and flutes were replaced with a marching drumbeat. Silence turned to an uproar of cheering and clapping. The dance floor melted away and the stage rose up beneath Joan’s feet. And there was Bessie and the band and the two student body members in togas and Anna, now up there with her again. And there was blood. On her hand.

“Your Highnesses,” Bessie said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Joan does not hear her. She can’t even move. 

Red. Blood. On her fingers. Blood.

_Her blood?_

Was it happening again?

Anna looked at her in confusion, eyebrows furrowed together. 

“Joan?” She whispered. “Everything okay?”

Joan does not reply.

Like how Anna does not see the blood.

It was the size of a nickel American tourists would sometimes accidentally drop on the streets. Bright red against her pale white skin, like a ruby buried in fresh snow. Completely odorless in such a small quantity.

Blood.

Where did it come from?

Joan looked up shakily and time seemed to slow down so she, and everyone else in the gym, could watch as two buckets full of blood poured out in an unhurried manner to fall, _splash, splash, splash_ , right over Joan’s head.

\------

_“Hail, Alma Mater,”_

The singing of the crowd mixed with the band and all the cheering was a mess of noise in Anne’s ears. She grit her teeth in rage and glared down at the thrones, where the pig herself, Joan Seymour, was being crowned Prom Queen. With _her_ tiara.

“Why are they still clapping?” Anne hissed.

“I don’t know, babe.” Cathy said uselessly. “Don’t ask me.”

Anne growled lowly in her throat and gripped the rope in her hands tightly. The smell of the blood wafting from the buckets was intoxicating.

_“Oh, Mother, we salute you,”_

“Are you going to pull it?” Cathy asked. “They’re there. The song is playing. Get it over with already.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Anne snapped.

_“We proclaim out devotion,”_

Anne’s hands were starting to shake. Her chest burned as she held her breath. 

“I’m not pulling it for you.” Cathy said. “That thing can sit up there ‘till hell freezes over.”

Anne elbowed her hard in the stomach and her girlfriend reeled backwards in pain.

_“As we set our dreams into motion!”_

“Your Highnesses,” Bessie said from below after the school anthem ended, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Anne leaned forward and yanked the cord with both hands.

For a moment, there was slack, making her think Cathy fucked up the set up to get back at her, that the rope was attached to nothing but thin air, that Joan fucking Seymour was actually going to get away clean.

But then, it snagged and jerked away from her grasp, leaving a thin rope burn across her palms. The buckets tipped and glorious red fell free. She peeked over the edge to watch, then turned to Cathy, smirking widely in victory.

In the darkness, Cathy looked horrified.

And in the light of the stage, someone screamed.

\------

Two weeks after the Black Prom, Elizabeth “Bessie” Blount, would write this for the detectives,

_“I had been looking at the crowd when the buckets came, but I turned fast enough to see a majority of it. It got EVERYWHERE. Joan got the most of it. She looked like she had just been dragged out of a river of blood. There were barely any spots of pink left on her dress. But us onstage got some of it, too. Anna was wearing a white tux. She got splattered. She looked like she was in a murder scene. I got splattered, too. My dress and my chest and my face. And for a moment, when my mind flashed back to the showers on Friday, I wondered if this was period blood. It was clearly a prank of sorts, so did whoever planned this (which I now know was Anne), get a bunch of girls to squat over some buckets and bleed into them just to dump it out on this one chick?_

_But then I realized that it didn’t smell like period blood._

_I don’t think any of you or anyone else who wasn’t there really understand the smell. It wasn’t just an awful sight--it smelled, too. Like--like...it’s so hard to explain. It smelled like blood, but blood that has been left out in the sun for a week. Like rotten meat. Have you ever smelled rotten meat? It was like that._

_And it also wasn’t just blood. There were organs and pieces of organs, too. I don’t even know what it was, but there was a strip of /something/ on my face. But Joan was covered in guts. Intestines hanging from her shoulders, mushy livers and kidneys caught against her dress, a stomach snagged on her crown. There were even testicles. One missed her, but the other hit her in her head and then bounced off._

_Joan was still for a very long time. She had been looking up, so her face was dripping and her eyes were closed. Then, she opened them and things all went to hell from there._

_I look back on this a lot. I know it wasn’t that long ago, but it’s always so fresh in my mind. I got my period two days ago and I /cried/ when I saw the blood. Because I wonder, if I had been a little bit nicer, would it have never happened? I know that’s wishful thinking, but I still wonder about it all the time. I do that a lot, now. I just think about what happened. And it gets worse each time._

_I wish about a lot, but I never wish to stop the Black Prom. I just wish I had died in there with everyone else. I could kill myself, but it wouldn’t be the same, you know? I was left alive for a reason, I think. It’s a punishment. Unless Joan thought I was innocent enough to let go. But I don’t think so. So now I have to live with what I did and what happened because of it._

_I would like to see Anna again, though. I wish I got to say goodbye to her.”_

\------

She was covered in it.

Blood.

Whose blood?

( _my blood_ )

The smell was overwhelming. Like rotten meat left out in the summer heat for several months. The taste was worse. She didn’t want to describe it. This blood did not have the same metallic tang of normal blood. There was something very, very wrong with it.

The blood was thick, half a liquid, half a solid. It was coagulated and clotted, thick chunks caught in her hair and eyelashes and dress. It drooled down her chest, between her breasts, and over the flat expanse of her stomach. 

Everywhere. It was everywhere.

In her ears and her nose and her eyes and her mouth. 

Blood.

Something else splattered down against her, too. It made a loud slapping sound when it hit her head and made her tiara crooked when it snagged on the points. Something long and squishy draped over her shoulder while something else went down the back of her dress and fell out the bottom with a wet /plop/. They all had a very rank, ripe scent.

Joan’s eyes were closed. She had been looking up, so her face was completely drenched. Her dress was ruined, dyed to a deep scarlet instead of a pale flamingo pink. Her hair was soaked and dripping and red, retaining no hints of the original platinum white-blonde. The cloak around her neck looked like a freshly gutted dog, and it fell heavily to the ground at her feet. Rivulets of red ran down her arms, oozing off her fingers and into the crimson lake all around her.

One by one, the clapping stopped, the cheering died off, and the smiles fell until the only sound was the creak of the two ropes the buckets were attached to and the splattering of blood on the floor. Nobody moved, nobody breathed, nobody spoke a word.

And then, Joan’s eyes opened.

Something was glowing behind those twin orbs of grey-blue.

Joan slowly raised her hands and stared at them, watching tiny rivers of blood snake down the palms. Her breathing picked up slowly, faster and faster and faster, until her body was heaving with the weight of her panting. Her eyes darted around- at Anna, spattered in red beside her; at Bessie, wide-eyed and bloody; at George and Jane, horrified; at Miss Aragon, with her mouth hanging open; at Principal Holbein, shocked into stillness; at the audience, silent. She looked down and saw the blood, then the guts.

She was covered in guts.

Intestines hung from her shoulders, several pieces of pruney and wrinkled pink tissue clung to her dress, a stomach was caught on her crown.

Guts.

Someone spilled guts on her.

Blood and guts.

Something itched in Joan’s throat, and when she opened her mouth, a whimper came out.

And then a cry.

And then a scream.

She screamed a horrible, nightmare-haunting scream that reverberated throughout the auditorium and jammed itself into the ears of the audience. It cut off after a moment and she stared at her hands again in horror, hoping they would be clean, but the red still remained. She tried to scrub at her arms, but the blood only smeared and coated her skin even further. She whimpered and keened loudly, scratching and clawing desperately. Someone in the audience snorted.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Anna roared in fury. She was the first to snap out of the terror-stricken trance, and now all she felt was outrage. “WHO DID THIS?”

No answer. Someone snorted again. A few people murmured. Heads whipped around frantically.

“ _WHO DID THIS?!_ ” Anna screeched again. She looked around and spotted something in the wings- Anne and Cathy. She snarled lowly, like a dog about to bite, then took off after them when they fled.

Like that, with Anna’s jarring sprint into motion, the trance that had descended over the gym was broken. People began to exclaim in shock and whisper to one another. A few took out their phones to take pictures. Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee snorted and then burst into howls of laughter.

And people joined in.

They were _laughing_ at her.

( _Mama was right_ )

Joan felt her body start to seize. She went hot and then cold and then hot again until she was freezing. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest, racing faster and faster and faster until she thought it would burst apart. 

“Pig, pig, pig, pig!” Anthony bellowed through bouts of laughter. “Sweet pig, pig, pig!”

( _Mama was right they’re laughing_ )

( _they always laugh_ )

“Freak! Freak!!” Maggie shrieked in giggles.

Everything was starting to bleed together. A blur of black and silver marched through the crowd below; Jane Parker slapped Anthony hard across the face.

Joan gasped.

Miss Aragon and Principal Holbein rush up to the stage, along with George Boleyn and Jane Parker. The whispers are swelling into a full thunderstorm of murmurs, but she can’t make them out. Her ears were too clogged with blood to really hear.

“Joan?” Jane called out, and her voice was but a distant echo. “Joan, can you hear me?” She waved a hand in front of her face.

Miss Aragon gently touched Joan’s shoulder, brushed away the tangle of intestines caught against it. Her nose was twitching; she could smell the overwhelming stench of the rancid blood and guts, too.

“Joan? Joan, sweetie, talk to me. It’s Miss Aragon.” The coach said.

But Joan does not awaken from the strange state she’s slipped into.

The adrenaline is making the strain on her body bearable, all the beautiful chemicals coursing through her veins as she flexed her powers.

That, and the anger.

It all made her so angry. Her mother. Her treatment at school. Her life. Who she was.

Fifteen long years of being the good Christian girl. Of turning the other cheek. Of enduring and bearing. Of being patient and understanding and letting things go, always letting things go.

It gets old. So fucking old.

She was tired of it.

The pillars of the Parthenon began to quake. The decorative spires and sculptures on the gym floor soon followed. Joan sent her powers through their mass and ripped them into chunks. The pieces locked together in the air like a growing puzzle until a long body was created. Wings from the ripped mural canvases, a tail of ice and marble, curved claws chipped from stone, sharp spikes torn out of chair legs, and a piece of the fire alarm and DJ booth attached to the back of the throat. 

Everyone stepped away and stared in horror as the dragon thumped to the ground on its back haunches and let out an ear-piercing roar. 

_“Say. Hello.”_ It spoke in a gargled voice. _“Everybody. Say. Hello.”_

And then, a pipe from up above was ripped free and sailed straight into Maria de Salinas’s heart.

\--

August had thought they had been scared when the buckets dropped, but not even that fear could rival the absolute terror pumping through them as they stared at the bleeding corpse just a few feet away. Several people were starting to run, but they couldn’t move. It wouldn’t matter anyway; all the doors were locked. They could hear students shouting over it in a panic all around them, through the screaming.

They looked up at Joan Seymour’s bloody form and realization dawned on them with a jarring shock.

_She’s going to kill us all._

The pipe pulled loose from Maria’s heart with a spurt of blood. Joan peered at it curiously, as if it were a new pet. A moment later, it flew around and jammed itself through the spot that connected the second victim’s jaw to her neck. It went all the way through and left her nearly decapitated, spasming wildly on the ground before death overcame her and she stilled. Then, the pipe spun and sailed straight through a boy’s stomach. 

By this point, full pandemonium had erupted throughout the entire theater. Everyone was running around screaming, panicking, crying. They’re trampling over each other like caged cattle—and they very well may have been, because they were all going to burn like the filthy cows they all were.

 _This is our punishment,_ August realized. _For bullying her. We did this._

They looked up with tears in their eyes. The head of the conjured dragon turned to them slowly and creaked open its jaw.

 _“Repent, repent, repent, repent.”_ It said, and then smashed its talons over August’s head.

\--

Nicola couldn’t even scream when August was crushed right before her eyes. Their body crumpled like a compressed can; she could hear their bones snap and break beneath the heavy weight of the strange monster’s talons. When the claws were raised, there was a huge splattering of blood and mushed organs, which oozed slowly off stone nails in droplets of liquid ruby and rose quartz.

August was dead.

Joan was not done killing yet.

Nicola dove behind an upturned table and tried to steady her ragged breathing. She yelped when someone collapsed down in front of her.

“Ari!” She cried.

Ari, shell shocked, but uninjured, scrambled beside her, ducking low for cover. Their eyes were wide and mortified.

“What--what the fuck is going on?” They whispered. Each word sounded like it took great effort to speak through heaving breaths. “What--is--happening?!”

“I-I don’t know!” Nicola replied.

Near the buffet temples, the flying pipe stabbed through a girl’s neck. Nicola shuddered and hugged her knees.

“She’s killing us,” She whispered. “She’s killing us all.”

“Oh god,” Ari muttered in horror. They pressed a hand to their forehead. “You know what, Nicola? I-I don’t want to die!” They laughed shakily, tears brimming in their eyes.

“Shh. You’re not allowed to die.” Nicola said, and Ari managed a tight smile.

And then, the pipe flew by and put itself directly between Ari’s eyes.

The table tipped backward, along with Ari’s body. The pipe pulled out with a squelch and squirt of blood, leaving a gaping hole all the way through Ari’s head. Nicola vomited, she couldn’t help it.

“Monster,” She whispered raggedly She glared at the stage through tears. “You’re a monster!” 

Joan twitched, but didn’t look at her. Nicola braced herself and prepared for the pipe to come around and take her life, but it didn’t. It was currently embedded in the stomachs of two students at once. No, instead, her executioner was a snake that rose up from one of the candles.

Nicola’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the flaming serpent coil out from the candle. It was huge, with bright golden eyes and a tongue that spewed embers when it flicked out at her. Then, it opened its wide jaws and came at her faster than lightning.

Pain. Blinding pain. Blinding, unbearable pain.

She was on fire.

Her dress exploded into golden plumes almost instantly, with her hair following shortly after. She could feel the fabric of her gown fusing with her flesh as it dripped off her body like wax. She screamed and flailed helplessly, but it did nothing to help her. The serpent consumed her.

\--

A thick shoulder smashed Violet into a rigid back. Boots stamped down on one of her feet. She heard a screech of pain that sounded like someone from her Economics class. She caught a glimpse of Principal Holbein trying desperately to calm everyone down. Someone grabbed her forearm, and she turned to see Lara, staring at a raging snake made of fire.

“Oh god,” She whispered. “What do we do?”

“I-I don’t know!” Violet said. “We can’t escape. The doors are locked!”

“There has to be another way!” Lara cried. “D-don’t say that! There has to be!”

Nearby, a kid burst into flames when the snake coiled around him. The dragon jumped into the fray, shaking the entire gym when it leapt to the ground. It lashed its huge tail, connecting with a large panicking group of students and sending them sprawling with an awful symphony of breaking bones and splitting skin. It trampled over kids as it made its way to the tree and climbed to the top.

 _“Respect me. Respect me. Respect me.”_ It said over and over again, flaring out its wings. Its mouth did not move when it spoke, rather just hung open like a snake spraying venom.

Violet and Lara backed away, getting pushed and shoved and nearly separated in the process. They clasped their hands together and watched as fire began to spread through the ripped murals against the wall.

This place was going to burn to the ground.

“JOAN!!”

The pipe, which had taken lodging in the back of a blonde girl’s skull, flashed through the air and cleaved into its next victim’s stomach, silencing them.

Lara gasped and buried her face in her talons.

“Oh no,” Violet whispered. “Oh no, no, no…!”

\--

Anna coughed and was startled to taste blood. She touched her lips and her fingers came back red. Then, slowly, her hands slid down to her stomach, where an even bigger patch of red was spreading across her tux. 

There was a pipe in her stomach.

Her vision blurred and she collapsed to her side, gargling on her blood.

“Anna!!”

Joan was there, even bloodier than her, grey-blue eyes wide. Her hands hovered around the pipe, then pulled it out, sending sharp bolts of pain through Anna’s entire being.

“Anna, Anna, no--” Joan stammered. Tears flooded down her face. “Anna, no--”

“J-Joan--” Anna coughed. She raised a bloody hand and Joan clasped it in her own. 

“Anna, I’m so sorry!” Joan said. “I-I didn’t mean to…” She glanced at the gaping red horror in Anna’s stomach. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Anna said. “I-I know you...you didn’t…” Everything was starting to blur together.

“No, Anna, don’t die!” Joan begged. “Don’t die! You can’t die!”

“Think...think I still have a shot at being a singer?” Anna choked out a laugh that was thick with blood.

Joan sniffled and nodded tearfully. “Y-yeah, of course.” She said. “Y-you’d be the best!”

Anna smiled weakly up at her. Her brain felt very fuzzy all of a sudden. The pain was getting worse.

No. No. She cannot die, not now, not after all she’s done. Surely she won’t—the wound is likely not nearly as terrible as it felt, or this is some nightmare and she’ll wake up any moment, and there will be no more blood and George and Jane and Joan will be teasing her for falling asleep at prom and then they’ll go to the Blazer.

She doesn’t wake up.

And now she can’t breathe--her chest heaved and she gasped and coughed, and suddenly her throat felt very hot and full and it’s terribly uncomfortable. 

She doesn’t want to die. But it hurt too much.

“Joan--” She rasped. “I-I can’t--”

“No.” Joan said through gritted teeth. Then, she softly pushed Anna’s head up to look at her. The spotlights glowed around her and made her look like a blood soaked angel. “You‘re not dying today. Not here.” She sniffled. “Not in my arms, Anna.”

Anna frowned and parted her lips, gasping for air so loud Joan’s own air almost got pulled out of her lungs. 

“Please.” She begged quietly. “You have to--”

The rest of the words didn't come out, but Joan’s face paled and she understood.

“No, Anna,” She whispered. “No. Not after I--”

“I-it _hurts_ , Joan.” Anna said. 

“I-I can fix you!” Joan said, shaking her head. Blood from her hair splatter everywhere. “I-I can sew your wound! I-it’s gonna be okay!”

Anna shook her head sluggishly. “Joan,” She whispered firmly. “You can’t. You know that.” She lifted a quaking hand and wiped away one of Joan’s tears, smearing the blood already on her face. “Don’t--don’t be--sad.” 

“W-we were supposed to w-watch that movie together,” Joan whimpered. “And have a party. You _can’t_ die, Anna.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna breathed out. Then, quietly, she said, “I love you.”

“I love you.” Joan said back

Anna’s face lit up, regardless of the pain. “You’re incredible,” She said.

Joan cried harder. 

“Don’t let--don't let this--w-world tell you--otherwise, mh?” She said. “Don’t let it--it ruin--you.”

“Anna, please.” Joan sobbed. “Please, please don't go. I-I _need you_. You--you brought me back to life.”

“And I’d do that again--and again..and again--”

Anna was delirious. She caressed Joan’s cheeks with her thumbs, and Joan leaned her forehead against hers. Joan let the silence between them fill the void she started feeling inside of her for a few seconds, but her sobs soon came back, filling the stage’s space. All around them in the gym, the panic of students and teacher chaperones was unified into stillness. They were all watching transfixed in shock and despair. 

“Thank you,” Anna whispered.

“F-for what?” Joan asked.

Anna smiled. “For giving me the best night of my life.”

Anna’s neck snapped. Joan knew where to send her powers into her spinal cord to make her stop crying. Hurting. 

To make it all stop.

If someone had asked her to do this, she would’ve killed herself. She would kill herself for Anna a thousand times. Over and over. She would let anyone torture her, use her, hurt her, however whenever wherever they would like to. But Anna asking her to end her suffering… She could not bear this. She could not bear her pain...not this one. 

Not like this. 

The one person who ever truly cared about her. The one person who genuinely wanted to be around her… She killed her.

Joan let out a long, keening whimper and began to rock back and forth, cradling Anna’s upper body against her chest. 

If they only could’ve had more time. If they only could’ve had some more time to spend together, some more time to share, some more time to be friends. In such a short period of time, Anna had turned into the big sister she never knew she wanted or ever had. She wanted to be next to Anna forever and always. She wanted to be with her and her friends and even Katherine.

But it didn’t matter now. Anna was dead. And no amount of power was going to bring her back.

Joan cried for several long moments, clutching Anna’s corpse. Fresh blood mingled with the blood coating her entire being. Warmth was slowly draining out of Anna’s body.

And then, something itched in her throat and, holding Anna closer, she tipped her head back.

The thing that overcame the silence was just a noise, one that had been boiling up in Joan’s chest for hours; long before she had gotten blood dumped over her head, or walked into prom, or even got invited to prom at all.

Joan didn’t yell a whole lot, never had. She’d always had the tendency to quietly brood when her temper ran high or her spirits low, something that had helped facilitate her transformation over the years of torment and torture. So in reality, the noise that was escaping her right now was one she’d been holding back for a very long time.

It sounded stupid. But it felt good.

So she kept doing it. Screaming. Over and over again until it just turned into one long roar of agony and fury and anguish.

Intimidating or not, effective or not, when a sound was being uttered over and over by a teenage girl who’s been living the closest thing to Hell that could exist on God’s green earth, a teenage girl covered in blood with wild eyes, a mangy body, and a lifetime worth of pain...

It was a goddamn battle-cry.

Then, her mouth snapped shut and she sat there, staring levelly at the edge of the apron with both hands gripping tightly at Anna’s tux, which was spattered with blood from the bucket. She was still crying, but something was different. A steely glint had entered her eyes and there was a strange, off tightness to the way she was sitting now.

There was no ripple or twitch that went over her face or any other real indication that there was anything wrong. It had just suddenly stopped screaming and gone very, very still.

Sometimes people did crazy things when they were worked up. There was always some dumb high school student who would think it was a good idea to threaten a bigger, much tougher upperclassmen just to show everyone how masculine he was or some poor sucker that got cocky enough to hit on that hourglass-figured woman in the tiny dress, only to find out that she was happily married to someone named Biff, who had biceps the size of small dogs and also happened to be standing right behind them.

That was normal. That was just people for you. Everyone had seen or heard of all of that and more.

But sometimes, you’d get the individual who had something else wrong with them. Something deep inside that was there way before even a bout of stubbornness flicked on their brain. They’d look perfectly normal because whatever was wrong with them, it was the sort of break that you could patch up with metaphorical glue and hide from the world as long as you had the presence of mind to do so. Then the anger or misery or pain melted that glue away and split the break wide open and let all those bad things that were locked away come boiling out like pus from an abscess.

And, out of nowhere, that same calm, smiley person who you were just talking to about the Red Sox-Yankees game could suddenly be pressing your head into the bar with their elbow in your throat, eyes alight with hysterical rage, all because you’d done something as small as accidentally scoot your drink a little too far in their direction.

And right now, somewhere behind those horrifyingly blank silver eyes and that tight frown, the mercy killing of her first ever friend had made those last strands of glue stretch out and break, like the little filament in a light bulb fraying and making that final _ping!_ sound before it snapped and burned the bulb out.

There was something very, very wrong with Joan Seymour.

And she was a walking nightmare that nobody had seen coming.

An uncomfortable silence had descended on the gym. They had all sensed it, too, that weird light that had turned on behind the blood-soaked girl’s eyes like the tiny, silvery start of a fire, flickering silently in the corner of a room.

Joan gently placed her flower crown on Anna’s chest, situating her limp hands to where they were holding on it, then stood very, very slowly as if she were underwater, or her muscles were buckled into place. Her movements weren’t right- they were too twitchy and abrupt like a robot with rusted limbs. And her eyes—god, her eyes… They were wider than humanly possible.

She stood, dripping with blood, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and stared out at the audience. 

( _i’m going to kill you all_ )

Someone should tell the Devil she was going to room with him because she was about to turn this place into a living Hell.

Grace period ended with the striking of the flaming snake. A poor boy in a dark purple tux burst into flames, and screaming erupted all around him once again. 

“Oh fuck! Oh god!”

“We’re all going to die!”

“Open the door!”

“Somebody call 999!!”

“HELP!!!!”

Madness. It was pure madness.

( _nobody will EVER laugh at me again_ )

She imagined storming into the school and screaming her head off at the inconsiderate teachers, the rude students. She’s a smart kid, dammit! She’s been in school as long as everyone else, and she’s very good at it. No more questioning her, no more arguing or trying to make her look foolish, no more bullying. 

And then, it happened. Within the space of the gym, it happened. Absolute mayhem.

She imagined setting fire to the entire school, not caring about how much money it would cost to fix it. Just to hear the crackles of flames, just to watch the people scramble, just to be the chaos instead of the shield against it.

Roaring flames tore along the walls of the gym, thanks to Judgement. Her dragon at the top of the tree helped by fanning the fire with its giant wings, throwing embers all throughout the room. Students squealed when they were burned, music to Joan’s ears. Someone crumpled to the ground, charred as black as night. Someone else with their tux on fire was screaming for help. Several burned corpses lay half in, half out of the firestorm, so melted and disfigured that their gender could barely be made out.

She imagined stalking into her classes, kicking the door open like she would sometimes try to do with the prayer closet. She would watch class jump in surprise and fear, not just staring at her like she’s her mother’s trained puppy. 

Her fingers clenched and someone’s head popped like a balloon, splattering bits of brain and bone all over the faces of the people around them. They all shrieked in horror. Someone else yelled in a higher register, and Joan realized it was some guy coming at her with a knife he must have snuck into the party. She couldn’t touch it, but she could feel her power surging through her fingers and she leaned into it, snatching the knife right out of the boy’s hands and making it cut murderously across his throat like the widest, most bloody smile in the world.

She imagined punching Anne in the face, hearing the crack of her nose. Better than any of the bullshit Christian music her mother makes her listen to.

And then, relishing it, she imagined dunking her into water until she couldn’t breathe, she imagined stealing Bessie’s clothes and leaving her stranded naked in a bathroom stall for hours, she imagined tripping Maria in the hallway and having her break her jaw on the way down, she imagined putting a snake in Maggie’s shoe and watching her howl and foam at the mouth when it pumped her full of venom.

_Who’s the boss now? Who’s the tough one, who doesn’t take shit, who doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want, ever?_

She imagined growling into all of their ears as she tore into all of them and didn’t care how much of a devil it made her.

_How do you like me now?_

Being strong, and bold, and standing up, taking what she wants when she wants it, for the first time in her goddamn life. Because, before this, she would have never done any of that stuff she imagines.

She never did that.

She never defended herself or stood up for herself or fought back.

She only endured and endured and endured like a good little girl, like Mama wanted, like how Mama made her.

It's what's best for her. What's best for everyone.

But not anymore.

Never again.

Joan reached out her powers and found Maggie among the panic.

( _never again Maggie never again_ )

( _you will never hurt anyone else ever again_ )

She coiled her powers around Maggie’s shoulders and clenched down. When the grasp was tight enough, she began telekinetically pulling away from Maggie’s body. Instantly, Maggie was alerted that something was very wrong when her arms raised outwards against her will. She fought against Joan’s power, but was much too weak, and began to scream loudly at the strain on her flesh.

“Maggie!” Anthony yelled in shock. “What’s wr--”

Joan halted his sentence. She didn’t want him speaking anymore. 

She found his organs after a quick moment of searching and vacuumed them upwards. Anthony gagged loudly and clutched at his stomach. His throat bulged like an anaconda was trying to slither out of his body, and then his guts came pouring out of his mouth. 

Everyone shrieked much louder than they were before, or at least those not completely panicking. Anthony’s stomach splattered to the ground first, then his kidneys and liver, large intestines, and then his small intestines, which didn’t make it all the way out and dangled from his mouth like a half eaten snake. He collapsed into the pool of his own insides, empty and very much dead.

“Anthony!!” Maggie shrieked, tears pouring out of her eyes. A moment later, her arms ripped off of her body and began spewing blood everywhere. Delicate bones poked out like stars on a dark night from the fresh openings against her shoulders. She would bleed to death quickly, and Joan left her to die on the floor, hoping it would be painful.

She looked around, noting how many people were still left alive. She watched Judgement corral three students, one of which fainted from terror. He set them all on fire and then whisked off for new prey. The girl who fainted woke up screaming, but the screams didn’t last very long.

Where was Anne?

( _she ran_ )

( _coward coward coward_ )

She had to go after Anne.

Joan got into the sprinklers overhead and activated them. The spray of water felt amazing over her tingling skin. The blood, mostly dried, began to run in red trails, but she knew it would do little to really clean her the way she wanted it to.

( _i’m coming Anne_ )

But first, she had to finish what she started.

\--

Violet took one step too close to the white tree where the watching dragon was perched. Having spotted her, the dragon roared a challenge, extending its wings in a brilliant display of dominance.

The roar it made was earth shattering.

Violet was still recovering from the roar when the dragon jumped down and its spiked forearm slammed into her chest, catapulting her backwards. It went after her, crushing several students into nothing beneath its talons, then pierced her with its tail, leaving her dangling several feet from the ground. Rich, ruby red blood drizzled from the razor sharp point.

She felt faint, the pain radiating through her like a dull ache as the dragon slowly brought her around, its beady white glass eyes fixed on her. She tried to wriggle free, but the sharp edge of the tail tearing into her unresisting flesh caused her to slide further down the blood-streaked appendage. The tail grated through her organs, cutting clean through them. She coughed blood and moaned weakly. Everything was starting to spin.

“Violet!!” Lara cried from down below.

Violet coughed blood again. The dragon lashed its tail and sent her flying free. She hit the floor roughly, hearing several bones snap, and then went very still. The last thing she ever heard was the sound of Lara’s skeleton being crushed in the jaws of the dragon.

\--

Aragon was rarely ever scared, but the mayhem that had erupted throughout the gym nearly had her paralyzed with fear. For a moment, as she watched the destruction break out, she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, especially when she saw Anthony Lee spill his guts from his mouth, but when the sprinklers kicked on overhead, she put her head back on her shoulders.

She had to get out.

Amid the chaos, she saw a flash of white and purple- Bessie. She hurried over to the bleach-haired student, who was in the middle of a pretty bad panic attack, and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Bessie! Bessie? Bessie, listen to me!” She shook her shoulders. “Come with me, alright?”

Bessie, unable to muster up any comprehensible reply, nodded. Aragon took her hand and began guiding her to a set of side doors that weren’t as blocked off as the rest of the exits. However, they were just as jammed as all the others.

“Fuck!” Aragon hissed, yanking on the handle.

“Wh-what do we do, Miss Aragon?!” Bessie whimpered, shivering.

Aragon looked around desperately, then located a vent up near the ceiling nearby.

“Get a chair!”

Bessie obeyed and grabbed the closest, most stable chair she could find. Aragon stood on it and ripped off the vent cover, then hopped back down. She had to let her kids go first.

“Go!” She shouted over the pandemonium. “Hurry! Get in!”

Bessie didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her heels and stood up on the chair, scrambling into the vent as quick as she could. Several other students who were smart enough to come over followed her in. By the time it was her turn to climb in, the sprinklers had cut off and the ground was covered in a layer of water.

Joan stepped off of the stage slowly. With every step she took, the water around her spread away so she would be walking on dry ground. Above her, the electrical equipment holding up the spotlights crackled, and Aragon realized what was about to happen.

“EVERYBODY, GET OFF THE FLOOR!!!” She screamed.

Aragon leapt up onto the chair and flung her arms inside the vent. As she was pulling herself up, the chair flipped and she was left dangling above the ground. And, at the same time, the electrical equipment exploded into sparks and fell to the floor.

It was horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. She watched her students spasm as they were electrocuted and then drop to the ground like birds with broken wings. Hundreds must have died, and she would soon join them. Any second now, her arms would give out and she’d plummet into the electrically charged water, joining the kids as a corpse inside the gym.

Her life began to flash before her eyes, surely thinking she was about to die. But then, a strange, unseen force began to lift her up and tuck her gently into the vent. When she turned her head, she saw Joan looking at her with shining eyes.


	10. Don't Waste The Moon

“When did you first realize something was wrong?”

“When I heard the sirens.”

Katherine remembered all her fears coming true when dozens of police sirens, fire truck sirens, ambulance sirens began to blare so loudly in unison that she could hear them from her neighborhood. She had ripped open her front door, Isabel hovering right behind her, and stared in horror at the golden-orange light illuminating the night sky from miles away.

“And then the fire.”

“And when was the last time you saw Joan Seymour alive?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine looked at him skeptically. “At school on Friday. Before the prom.”

“You told Sheriff Doyle you saw her after the prom. Right before the Shell blew up.”

Katherine bit her tongue, remembering that interaction. She had just sped down in her car to get to the mayhem, but stopped at a gas station that was swarmed with police cars. When she launched herself out of the driver’s seat, she heard one of the officers saying into his radio how a fuel tank had just “went up” and the “gymnasium was gone.” She asked him what happened at the gym, and he told her to go home, that there was nothing she could do. But she didn’t listen, instead swerving around the gas pumps to get a better look at the school, which was completely engulfed in flames on one side.

That was when she heard the explosions. And saw the bursting pillars of fire in the distance. And noticed that the telephone poles lining the road were starting to rattle and rock. 

And Joan Seymour emerged from the smoke and fog rolling down the street.

“It was dark,” Katherine said. “I saw a girl in a dress.”

“You said you saw Joan Seymour.”

“I was wrong.”

But she wasn’t. She knew it was Joan.

Joan, covered in a slick of blood.

Katherine had tried to call out to her, but Joan didn’t answer or even look in her direction. She just kept walking, arms flat at her side, fingers splayed open, eyes wide and shiny and blank.

The Shell gas station blew shortly after. Something had wormed into the gasoline deposit and ignited the entire thing, sending the pumps into a blaze. Katherine’s ears didn’t stop ringing for a few hours.

“What’s it matter, anyway?” Katherine said. “Joan is dead.”

_I would know..._

\------

The sound of frantic knocking on Anne’s front door and the sound of her cousin shouting interrupted the heated makeout session between Anne and Cathy. She had been trying to ease her girlfriend up, who has looked sick ever since the blood dump, and it was just starting to work when the panicked banging and yelling started. Rolling her eyes and groaning in annoyance, Anne peeled herself from the couch (nobody was home, so they had the house to themselves, making this interruption even more irritating) and walked to the front door.

“What?” She growled at Thomas. “What’s your problem?”

“Oxford.” Thomas gasped out, clearly out of breath. His eyes were round holes of horror, like he had witnessed something awful. “It’s burning up, Anne.”

On the couch, Cathy shot up from her reclined position instantly and began to put her shirt back on, much to Anne’s dismay. 

“Whole damn city,” Thomas went on, breathless. “The school’s gutted.”

“What?” Cathy stood up and hurried over beside Anne. Regret, guilt, and terror was twisted all over her face.

“They said people at the prom were trapped.” Thomas continued. He wore the same expression as Cathy, realizing that this alleged destruction was partially because of him. “Only, like, eleven of them got out. The rest were cooked.”

Anne and Cathy exchange looks. Cathy looked ill all over again. She began to pace back and forth with her hands to her head, fingers knotted in her hair.

“Anne,” Thomas whispered, shuddering. “The ones that got out told the police something about a prank.”

Anne pressed her tongue against the inside of her lip, feeling embers of anger flicker through her. She shook them off for now and stepped closer to Thomas, noting the way he flinched away from her slightly. She placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Go home.” She said. “Don’t talk to anybody.”

Thomas took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. He hurried down the driveway and back to his car. Anne closed the front door after he drove off into the night.

“And what are we going to do?” Cathy asked. She sounded like she was close to tears.

Anne turned to her with a thin smile.

“We’re going to go into town and watch the fires.”

\------

The street is thick with mangled cars and billowing smoke. All around, the cries of the dying form brief, unsettling harmonies with the cracks and booms of exploding pavement.

A red double-decker bus tilted over at an alarming angle, tires punctured, emergency exit door hanging open. Its driver laid slumped across the steering wheel, sightless eyes staring ahead to a junction he would never reach. The limbs of luckless late night passengers trail from broken windows.

A water main has ruptured. Its flow was tainted with blood; dark swirls in a new river that headed for the oblivion of black drains. Soon those drains will fill beyond capacity and the street will begin to flood with the remnants of the dead and broken.

It’s the most magical place on earth, and everyone seemed to have it all there—the drugs, the drama, the unabashed violence, and the harm it’s done to Joan and everyone she’s ever loved.

This old, mysterious city lured her in a long time ago and numbed her with a fix for her every desire. Against this landscape, she’s carved out a prosperous career as the resident freak. Through the sheer force of her will, the city had molded and bent before her very eyes, covering everyone’s every potential insecurity with false confidence and gaudy excess.

In return, the city has jaded her, stripped her of her humanity, and warped her into an unrecognizable shell of noir-esque dysphoria, washed up on the filthy banks of the city’s canals. It has brought her to this very moment, shambling down one of the streets like a zombie, coated in coagulate blood and guts, leading a path of utter destruction in her wake.

The air around her was crackling. Every step she took broke the asphalt beneath her feet. Pillars of fire roared out of the ground behind her, spewing chunks of fiery rocks into the sky, which then landed with tremendous explosive force.

She was wrecking this city the way it wrecked her.

And every sinner who ever hurt her or wronged her was going to perish in her act of purification.

Rapture was nigh, and Judgement was upon them all.

Joan slowly continued down the road. The earth began to shake without stopping, a continuous tremor that jarred her teeth in her head and made her feel as though the ground was about to drop out beneath her. Another fountain of fire shot out into open air and the asphalt melted into magma, slithering slowly down the pavement alongside Joan like a benevolent bituminous companion.

A big black truck rattle up a side street, swaying into the other lane and jerking back over and over again. Music was blasting from the open windows and the stench of alcohol and weed could be smelled even from where Joan stopped. She watched the truck screech to a halt and the passengers peer over at her curiously, slurring among themselves. Then, they’re getting out and walking over.

“Damn girl,” One said, noticing the blood all over her. He stumbled when he walked and kept mixing his words together. A brown bottle was clutched tightly in his right hand. “You look FUCKED!”

His three friends, all red-faced and either drunk or high out of their minds like he was, roar into loud peals of laughter. Joan stared at them blankly.

“What’s with all the pyrotechnics?” Another asked. “You a performer?”

“Yeah, yeah,” A third nodded. “What kind of show is this? ‘S not even close to Halloween!”

“I’d still go down on ‘er, though,” Piped up the fourth with a lusty smile.

( _dogs_ )

Joan continued to stare at them absently as comments about the blood all over her and the fire burning around them were bounced off each of the men. What they don’t realize is that she’s sending her powers through the ground and into their bodies, and by the time they do realize, it’s too late.

A shrieking fit of screaming broke out when the fourth man’s head suddenly popped like a balloon, spewing shards of blood and bone and brains all over the place. One of them got a chunk of stringy tissue caught in their mouth and he immediately doubled over, gagging and vomiting. The other two continued to howl like babies.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” The first yelped. 

“WH-WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM?!” The second added.

“HE’S FUCKING DEAD, MAN!!” The first cried.

The second whirled around to Joan, pointing and blubbering.

“You-you fucking did this, didn’t you?” He stammered.

“How?!” The first said.

“I-I don’t know! But she killed Danny!”

The second man bent down and grabbed a long, thin shard of glass that had been broken when all the bottles of alcohol had been dropped. He swung it at Joan, and she was much too dazed to properly react.

“What...what the fuck…” He backed away from Joan, who had the shard now pierced through her cheeks. It entered through the right and came out from the left, wedged in place by her flesh. When she opened her mouth, the brown glass could be seen glistening in the firelight. Blood dripped over her bottom lip.

“What...what are you…?” The first whispered.

Joan flicked her tongue and felt the piece of glass in her mouth. It was cold and slick, but the blood it drew was hot and sticky. She didn’t like the taste.

She jerked her head and the man who had stabbed her went flying. His spine snapped loudly against a telephone pole, his body folding like a bent card upon impact. He slumped to the ground, lifeless.

“Oh fuck! Oh god!” The first man panicked. He grabbed his other friend’s arms, who had gone into shock. “Fuck! Jack, let's go!! We need to go!”

They didn’t get very far.

The ground below the men exploded into towering flames, incinerating them. The smell of burned flesh filled the air. Charred body fell to the asphalt, blackened and indescribable.

Joan moved on in silence.

She passed the plaza where she had been harassed by those college kids just a few days ago. She remembered the way nobody had done anything to help her and ignited the pavilion into a golden-orange blaze.

The fish and chips shop went next. She stomped her foot and a crack shot across the earth. A giant chunk of rock ripped through the building, turning it to rubble. She turned to the hair salon next.

No matter what time of day she went there, "Cut and Colour" was full of women who talked too loudly. The exact composition of the group changes from hour to hour but there were always familiar faces, and their tone is consistent: they know better.

At first, by day, she thought the locals were waiting for a haircut. Then, she noticed that it never seemed to be their turn. Finally, she realized that what they liked was a warm room to hang out in, with free magazines and a captive audience. It was a sort of day care center for bigots which also offered haircuts.

Vidal Sassoon supposedly said that with a small pair of scissors, he could make a woman cry for a week. Imagine what Joan could do with telekinetic powers.

She decided to blow the salon right out of the ground. It went flying through the air like a burning asteroid and burst apart when it hit the ground. When it was just mere pieces across the fiery pavilion, Joan was left a lot less satisfied than she thought she would be. She moved on slowly.

As she walked, she began to think. So many years wasted to torment. So many years she could have exacted her revenge and been treated like a normal person. So many years thinking she was just a useless, scarred waste of skin, as her peers in school had spent six years of her life reminding her.

She still heard them all the time, their voices in her head telling her how wretched, hideous, and scary she was. She tried to drown them out by concentrating on school work and prayers, but the smallest thing could bring them crashing back in. Just the thought of the shower incident—how familiar it all felt—brought on a fresh wave of memories of poisoned words and scornful laughter.

It all started when she was ten. Year 6. She had brought a Bible to school and prayed with it in the cafeteria during lunch. Everyone thought it was hilarious and she couldn’t live it down for the rest of Primary School.

And then she was eleven and in Year 7. Secondary School. And up until that school year, she was mainly ignored by her peers or picked on simply because of the whole Bible incident. But then gym class and changing in front of other girls became a thing, and they all saw the way her ribs would weirdly press out against her skin and how her stomach was sunken too far in for her skinny hips. That was the day she learned what the word “emaciated” meant. It also kickstarted hell on earth for the next five years of her life.

The rest of Year 7 was spent with her being bombarded by food and the constant question of if she was hungry. She even started being called anorexic when a few of the kids figured out what that meant and would be asked if she needed someone to jam their fingers down their throat whenever she would go to the bathroom. She also distinctly remembered a boy giving her a tub of rotten meat with maggots in it one day.

Year 8 rolled around. Mama said that the bullying would go away after the break, but when Joan turned up to the school when she was twelve, she was only met with familiar evil faces and fresh bouts of teasing. The anorexic jokes became more extreme, but those were probably the least awful things she was met with because her peers grew enough balls over the break to start getting physical with her. That school year quickly became the year of being tripped, shoved, and slammed against walls. She had even been pushed down one of the staircases when she was going to get a drink of water and broke her arm. She still remembered how horrified and sick the culprits had looked when they heard the awful crunching and cracking sounds of her bones breaking, like they hadn't meant to do that much damage. Instead of helping her, they left her in the stairwell, where she cried on the floor for an hour, immobilized by pain, until class ended and she was found by dozens of students. She finished that year with a cast that got slurs written on it when bullies would pin her down and forcefully write whatever they wanted.

When she turned thirteen, she begged her mother to take her out of school before Year 9 started, but Mama refused and Joan had to live through another year of ridicule and harassment. That was the first time she got her head dunked in a toilet and fingers smashed in a door.

Year 10 was the worst, in her opinion. High school. On the second day, her so-called friends abandoned her and scribbled on her homeroom desk statements such as “Go home”, “Drop dead”, and “Freak”. All her peers seemed to spread the news of her weirdness like wildfire to the higher grades, turning people she didn’t even know against her. Older kids and kids her age alike would beat her and threaten her with knives they would sneak to school just so they could snatch whatever snack she bought from the cafeteria and turn anyone she may have befriended against her. Students in her class would beg the teacher to let them be with someone else if they were partnered with her, always making sure to do so in earshot of her. They would laugh at her during presentations and throw things at her and make fun of her when she messed up. They mimicked her stutter and nervous ticks, held her down and dripped hot glue on her skin, put staples in her ears and fingernails, and poised sharp objects too close to her eyeballs just to hear how loud she would squeal. And the entire time, no adults did anything. They all turned a blind eye to her treatment, even when she had the burns and scars and bruises to prove what had been happening to her.

She soon realized that it wasn’t that they didn’t see what was going on.

They just didn’t _care_.

Nobody _ever cared._

She turned fifteen at a summer camp she hadn’t been allowed to go to, but sneaked off to, anyway. The break had been lonely and dreary- Joan wanted friends so badly that she dared to go against her mother’s wishes and ran off to the camp to try and be with kids that would mock her.

But, like everyone else in her life, they did.

When she cheerily told them that it was her birthday, they called her a witch instead of singing to her. A large group of the cruelest campers, some being seventeen, some being only nine, dragged her out to the nearby river and repeatedly dunked her in the water until she began to drown, all while they chanted “Drown the witch! Drown the witch! Drown the witch!” over and over and over again. It still echoed in her ears to this day.

Her mother punished her severely when she got home and didn’t even care when Joan cried to her about what the kids did to her, saying that she deserved it.

Joan became deathly afraid of water after that.

And then, there was Year 11. The cycle of abuse and torture and torment continued. The shower incident happened. Seemingly all was lost.

But not anymore.

Never again will she cower beneath them. Any of them.

She was an angel of wrath, and she would spread her fury unto them all.

A black G-Wagen stopped at a red light up ahead. Even from the distance between the two, Joan could tell who the driver was.

The car roared forward, not waiting for the overhead light to turn green. Joan lumbered slowly, while the car sped at her full speed. She could see Anne Boleyn, now, her face twisted with rage. Next to her, a dark skinned woman Joan didn’t know was yelling something in a panic. Joan twitched her head to the side and the dark skinned woman’s neck snapped to the side. Anne screamed and lost control of the car in shock. Joan gave it a gentle nudge and sent it tumbling across the street in a cacophony of cracks and crashes and shatters. 

Joan stopped and watched the car roll wildly before finally coming to a halt in front of her. Every side of the vehicle was crumpled and crushed, metal scraped and folded, black paint streaked with silver slashes. One of the doors was dangling open and barely hanging onto its hinges. Anne was sprawled out beside it after she had been thrown from the open door in the crash. She jarred awake from a momentary dip of unconsciousness and gasped sharply, looking around wildly. 

“Cathy?” She croaked. She looked up and saw the dark-skinned woman slumped in the passenger’s seat. She was very, very dead, if not by her neck wrung backwards, then by the gaping red horror opened up in her chest cavity. “CATHY!!”

Anne tried to get up and run to the woman, Cathy, to try and rouse her despite her injuries, to beg her to wake up, but couldn’t.

Because she was missing the entire lower half of her body.

Anne choked on a scream when she looked back and realized her legs were no longer attached to the rest of her. She may have vomited if her stomach hadn’t been ruptured; Joan could see the contents, mainly alcohol-mixed bile and chunks of a hamburger she had for lunch earlier that day, drooling out from a slice in the lining that was opened up like a ziplock bag.

During the crash, when Anne had been thrown out of the car, the open door rolled over her midsection, cleanly cutting her in half. Dark red intestines are stretched across the pavement like dying snakes. Stringy tendons dangled from the curve of her back, frayed and numb, no longer connected to any bone. Her spine was sticking out into the open air, bright white against all the blood. Organs poured out of the maw of the wound, shimmering in sheens of pink and scarlet. The shirt she’s wearing may have originally been dark green, but it was currently swamped by a flood of glistening gore. Her legs were a few feet away, bleeding heavily.

Joan sidled around the girl slowly and stepped into her field of vision. Anne looked up at her, gasping and spitting up blood. Tears were streaming from her eyes.

“Y-you--” She choked on her words.

Joan tilted her head like a confused puppy. Anne continued to sputter and wheeze below her.

“J-Joan--”

Anne barely managed to move her arms and grappled onto Joan’s right ankle. With whatever strength and feeling she had left in her body, she pulled herself forward to Joan. Her intestines slither and slide across the ground, leaving streaks of blood. She coughed up another bout of red.

“Joan--”

What did she want? Mercy?

Joan reached up and slowly pulled out the glass that was still stuck in her cheeks, then stuck it underneath Anne’s jaw. Anne gasped and spewed blood all over her legs.

“Y-you bi--” The glass pierced her tongue. She wasn’t going to be able to talk very well. Or do anything anymore, really. “Y-you--f-fucking--mon--monst--er.”

Joan stood up straight, turned around, and continued her walk down the street. Anne tried to follow her, crawl after her, but her head fell heavily and the shard of glass was jammed up further into her head when her chin connected with the ground. She frothed and foamed at the mouth helplessly, struggling to stay conscious.

Joan wondered how long she lived. She wondered if it was quick or if she suffered. 

She hoped she did.

Joan’s jaw began to ache. She could now feel the thin cuts in her cheek and felt like she was gulping down tiny pieces of glass whenever she swallowed. Awareness was slowly returning to her the closer and closer she got to her house.

She wanted her Mama.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The night was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the wailing of sirens in the distance. Bloodied shoes trampled over the dead blades of branches, the crunching of their filaments accompanying Joan’s every step. A frigid breeze cut across her face like a frozen knife, drawing red to her sallow cheeks. She shivered. The blood coating her body had gone cold.

She really, really needed her Mama right now.

Joan hobbled into her neighborhood, passing house after house, so much nicer than her own, until she finally came to the Seymour bungalow. Something inside of her fluttered and she staggered towards it as fast as her weak legs could take her, hands doing desperate grabby hands.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy--” She sobbed over and over again.

She stumbled through the front door, nearly tripping on the rug, and careened into the den. Everything was as she left it- completely trashed. Crosses were hanging at angles, the couch was tipped over, chairs and tables and lamps were strewn all across the floor. The only thing that was still in its original place was Mama’s velvet throne chair in the living room.

But where was Mama?

“Mama?” Joan called out. “M-Mama?”

No answer.

Joan stepped forward, and all the furniture and items on the floor pulled away from her, as if they were offended by her dirty presence.

“Mama? Mommy?”

Nothing.

Where was her Mama?

She remembered that Mama had left the house earlier that evening. What if she never came back?

Tears filled Joan’s eyes. She couldn’t be alone. Not after what happened tonight. She desperately needed her Mama.

She walked up the stairs, falling to her hands and knees halfway up and continuing the climb like a blood soaked animal that barely managed to get away from a hunter. She looked around the upstairs part of the house, crawling to Mama’s bedroom and peeking inside, leaving streaks of red across the hardwood floor. Mama’s bed was made, but she thought the blankets looked a little wrinkled on one side.

“Mama?” She called out again, a brief expression of hope flitting across her face.

No reply.

Joan’s bottom lip began to quiver. The movement hurt her cheeks even more and she whimpered sharply. The smell of rancid blood wafting around her was starting to make her stomach churn.

“Mommy?” She tried one more time, and when she got no answer, she retrieved fresh clothes from her bedroom and then locked herself in the bathroom.

An unseen force cranked the hot water nozzle on the faucet, filling the tub up with steaming water. Joan could barely lift her own arms, so she used her telekinesis to worm the dress off of her for her. It was a clumsy process, but she eventually was free from the bloody fabric. When she looked down, she saw that the blood had soaked all the way into her bra and underwear and even her pale skin, streaking down her chest and belly and arms and legs in dark red stripes. She quickly got into the bathtub.

The water was way too hot, but she didn’t bother turning the cold nozzle, even though she easily could with just a simple flex of her mind. She melted into the heat, sucking in a sharp breath and easing her lungs. When she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, she saw that the water around her was tainted a light red color. She splashed her face, thinking maybe she was just seeing things, but then she looked down at her hands and saw how stained they were.

She had been hoping it wasn’t real, that it was just all in her imagination, but something about seeing the blood now wet on her hands cemented it all as true.

It was true.

It all really happened.

Joan’s breathing began to pick up to the point where her lungs begged for air. She turned her hands over, staring at the palms and then the backs. Blood trailed lazily over the scars.

“No--” She gasped. She splashed her face again, wetting the blood and making it run down into her eyes and over her cheeks. “No, no, no--”

She splashed and splashed and splashed, then began to scrub and scrub and scrub when she realized just how stained her shoulders and chest were. Her hands smeared the blood into awful shapes, so she hooked her nails into claws and began scratching viciously until even more blood was drawn out. The entire process was messy and clumsy and had her weeping out loud like a lamb that had lost its mother. 

Where was her mother?

Joan dunked her head under the water and held it there, clawing her nails through her hair. The locks were stiff and dried with blood and released clouds of red through the bathtub when scoured so roughly. The natural platinum blonde color doesn’t come back easily and she nearly drowned herself trying to get all the blood out.

( _o Mama Mama where are you i need you o Mama please come back_ )

Joan hugged her knees and rocked back and forth, sloshing the red water around her. Her skin stung from the heat, but she didn’t care. She found that she wasn’t caring about a lot of things at that moment.

The room was dark, blue shadows leaked out of the cracks between the tiles. Maybe it’s mold, maybe it’s just a fancy design; they’ve been there for as long as Joan can remember. Ghostly whispers flooded her ears. She slid down the smooth, spattered ceramic and held her breath until her eardrums were about to burst; this is a coping mechanism of sorts, she thinks. She might fall asleep underwater one day, peaceful and careless.

( _Mama_ )

A thick, soapy wave splashes out of the tub as Joan sat up, gasping and hyperventilating, slapping her palms against the surface. She’s angry all of a sudden, she barely suppressed her scream as the shelf with all the shampoos and shower gels comes crashing down, bottles scatter across the floor.

At first, Joan thought that the devil was finally coming for her soul. Then, she thinks that it was an earthquake; the water was sloshing around the bathtub like a reddened poison. But, when Joan wiped the foam off her face, she realized that she’s the only one that’s quivering.

There’s a vibration racking through her body, muscles tensed, and wet hair full of electricity as if she’s about to cause a short circuit.

The shelf is lying on the tiles now, broken in two.

Joan whimpered. She leaned her temple against the edge of the bathtub and wept. Glittering silver tears dripped silently into bloody water. The smell of blood began to permeate through the air again. Joan dragged her body out of the water eventually, shivering and sniffling.

The house was eerily silent when Joan hobbled out of the bathroom. She’s dressed in a plain white nightgown and her hair is dripping freely all over her back and chest. It’s still slightly tinted red.

“Mama?” She whispered.

Like all the other times, there was no reply.

( _please please please_ )

“Mama?” Louder this time.

( _please please please please_ )

A creak in the floorboards.

Joan whirled around.

And there was her Mama, like an angel in the hallway, illuminated by a flickering red candle. Her hair was neatly combed and she was dressed in a dark blue dress she had sewn herself. Her golden brown eyes were warm and tender, sucking Joan in with their soft gaze, and Joan couldn’t help but burst into a fresh set of tears.

“Mama?” Joan squeaked weakly.

“Oh, my girl,” Mama murmured. “My sweet, sweet girl…”

“Mama, you were right!” Joan sobbed. “They all laughed at me!” The tears were falling faster, now. She could hear the laughter echoing loudly in her ears.

“Oh my poor angel…”

Joan nearly choked on a sob, feeling her throat constrict. She raised her arms, doing desperate grabby hands at her mother.

“Mama, please hold me,” She begged.

Mama obliged, sweeping her up into her warm, strong arms that made Joan melt upon contact. Her weak little body crumpled, knees buckling together, and Mama carefully lowered her to the ground, not letting go for even a second.

“Shh, shh,” Mama murmured, stroking her wet hair. “It’s okay… I’m here. I’m here now, your Mama’s here.”

“They all laughed at me,” Joan wept. She smothered her face in her mother’s chest, clinging like a drowning woman to the back of her dress. She couldn’t handle being let go right now. She just wanted to curl up in Mama’s arms and stay there forever.

“I knew they’d hurt my little girl.” Mama growled lowly.

Joan replied with a whimpering sob. She didn’t have enough air to properly answer, so she just continued to cry and cry, shaking like a newborn baby goat in her Mama’s embrace. 

Several minutes of silence, aside from Joan’s crying, passed. Joan realized that she couldn’t hear any sirens anymore. Maybe things had finally calmed down and would be okay again, like they were before the blood.

“I should have killed myself when he put it in me.”

Joan tensed up like she had just been struck by lightning.

“We slept in the same bed,” Mama went on, “Lived together sinlessly.” Her strong hand was rubbing firmly against Joan’s upper back, near the nape of her neck. “And then, one night, I saw him look at me in that way and we got down on our knees and prayed for strength. And that’s when he took me.”

“No, Mama--” Joan whimpered. She didn’t want to hear this. Not right now. Not after everything that has happened. “No, Mama, I don’t want to hear it--”

Mama leaned Joan back and stroked her tear stained face. “And I liked it.”

“No, Mama, no--” Joan shook her head, fresh tears pouring out of her eyes.

“I should have given you to God when you were born.” Mama said. “But I was weak. And I loved you so much.”

A smile twitched on Joan’s lip, weak and thin and shaky, but real. Those words sent butterflies fluttering through her stomach.

“And I said, ‘God, let me keep my little girl. Let me keep her.’” Mama said, and Joan’s smile became a little bit bigger. Maybe things would be okay after all. “Let us pray.”

Joan nodded, almost eagerly. “Yes, Mama,” She said, craving Mama’s soothing touch and silky words. “Yes, we’ll pray.” She nuzzled in closer to Mama’s warmth, breathing out a soft sigh of relief.

“I’ll be the preacher,” Mama said, “you be my congregation.”

Joan nodded again, smiling giddily. She closed her eyes and murmured along with Mama when she began to recite the prayer.

“Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy Name, 

thy kingdom come, 

thy will be done, 

on earth as it is in heaven.”

Mama’s voice was like honey, slithering warmly from her lips. Joan was drawn to it no matter what happened, no matter what Mama did. Because Mama, despite her actions and flaws, loved her.

“Give us this day our daily bread. 

And forgive us our trespasses, 

as we forgive those

who trespass against us.”

And wanted her.

“And lead us not into temptation, 

but deliver us from evil.”

And needed her.

“For thine is the kingdom, 

and the power, and the glory, 

for ever and ever. Amen.”

And--

And there was a sharp pain.

Joan’s eyes popped open wide and she gasped as all the air rushed out from her lungs. There was a sharp pain in her back, below her left shoulder, and then a rush of warmth across her nightgown. She looked up with a whimper and saw that Mama’s eyes were solemnly cold and crackling, like embers flickering in a winter wind. Her arm was reached around Joan, holding something in place, and Joan realized she had a knife in her back.

“Mama--” She croaked, blood dripping from her lips.

Something around the two of them crackled, like the air was charged with electricity, and they burst apart from each other like the similar charges of a magnet. Mama went flying down into the hallway, while Joan ricocheted off the staircase railing and then tumbled down the stairs, hitting the back wall with a magnificent splattering of blood before teetering over the remaining few steps. There on the ground, gasping for breath, she lay sprawled like a broken doll. Her jaw ached fiercely with every sharp intake of oxygen she took, while her back felt as though a bruise had just been slashed open and now all her tendons were being pulled out one by one. She whimpered at the pain, barely able to move her arm without it feeling like it was being torn off.

The staircase creaked; Mama was there, holding the stained butcher knife and primed for blood.

Joan scrambled backwards. Her body crumpled almost instantly, crushed by the weight of her wound, so she had to drag herself with one arm across the floor. Mama advanced on her slowly, menacingly, like a lioness stalking its injured prey.

“N-no, Mama--” Joan begged. “Mama, no, please-- Please no--”

“This isn’t your fault, Joan,” Mama said. “It’s mine.” 

“Mommy, this isn’t right--”

“Don’t you know that the Devil never dies?” Mama went on. Her eyes were shining and she was drooling slightly, lost in her daze. “So you have to keep killing them. Over--”

“No, no--”

“--and over again.”

Mama stabbed the knife down.

Joan rolled away just in time. A lock of hair got caught under the blade and tore free with a burning sensation across her scalp, but she could hardly care. She rolled over onto her stomach and tried to get up, and then crawl away when she wasn’t able to stand. Mama pursued her, grabbing her by the leg and slashing the back of her ankle. Joan screamed in pain and jerked onto her back. The stab wound throbbed, but she barely felt it through the rush of adrenaline spurting through her. She barely jerked her head in time before she was stabbed.

Her fingers, so spindly and bony, wrapped around Mama’s on the hilt of the knife and she wrestled with her over the weapon. Mama was bigger and much stronger, easily ripping her hands free from her grasp. She cut Joan across the arm when she shielded her face from another blow.

“Stop it, Mama!” Joan cried. She wiggled beneath her mother and managed to get one leg free. She kicked Mama in the stomach and took the chance to scamper away when Mama recoiled backwards in pain.

“YOU DEVIL!!” Mama roared.

Joan heard the uneven shuffling of footsteps behind her, then felt the sharp pain of the tip of the knife pricking her in the leg. She kicked again, only to have the blade streak across her exposed belly and make her howl in agony.

“No, Mama!” Joan shrieked. Her head was starting to become fuzzy. She felt so tired all of a sudden. “No, no!!”

Mama practically pounced on her, looking hungry. Joan struggled wildly beneath her like a captured animal. Her little body was slippery with blood and Mama had a hard time getting a good grip, so she gave up after a moment and cleaved the knife down on Joan’s head with a bellowing battlecry.

But that was the one blow Joan didn’t feel.

Joan looked up, gasping for air, and saw that the knife was hovering mere inches away from her face. Mama’s hand was frozen, ensnared by a telekinetic force much stronger than she was. Joan flexed her mind and suspended Mama in the air, then called upon every possible sharp object in the house- knives and needles, shattered glass and broken chair legs, box cutters and scissors. They all hovered around Mama, poised and waiting.

“Joan…” Mama whispered in horror, tears trickling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Joan whimpered.

“JOAN!!!”

Joan wailed and sent the object upon her mother.

The butcher’s knife pierced Mama’s heart and sent her flying backwards against the wall. A pair of wickedly sharp meat shears pinned one hand against the plaster, while a seam ripper wedged itself in the flesh of the other. Dozens of knives stabbed themselves into her stomach. A boxcutter smashed into her shoulder and a screwdriver embedded itself deep into her waist. She took a shard of glass to the thigh and a ruler to the torso and a ice pick to the collarbone, and Joan commanded them all to do so, watching with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mama, stretched out like Jesus on the wall, stopped moaning and groaning after a moment and her head slumped forward. Joan blinked her glassy eyes and tilted her head like a confused puppy.

“M-Mama?” She squeaked.

Like when she first got into the house that night, there was no answer.

Joan weakly crawled across the blood-spattered floor and shook one of Mama’s legs.

“Mommy?”

No answer.

Joan’s bottom lip began to quiver. She shook Mama’s leg harder, then wrapped her arms around it, looking up at Mama with big, shining eyes.

“Mommy, please answer me,” She begged.

Her Mommy did not.

Joan stood up and nearly blacked out from blood loss. Her head spun and she tottered on her feet, feeling sharp starbursts of pain exploding from the slash on her ankle, then steadied herself. She grasped onto Mama’s body and began to pull out all the sharp objects, whimpering out apologies as she did so.

First the ruler in her torso, then the meat shears, then the seap ripper. Mama’s body, no longer held up by anything, came crashing down and nearly crushed Joan. She clumsily fell to the ground, stumbling with Mama slumped in her arms.

“Mama?” She nudged Mama, who lay sprawled in her lap, motionless and bleeding. “I’m sorry, Mama… I’m so, so sorry…”

She felt selfish for crying. No closure comes, only more misery. An unfathomable weight on her chest pressed down on her lungs until they nearly burst. The dam that long protected her heart ruptured at the pressure and a whimper bubbled to her lips, morphing into a full-throated outcry of grief.

A cry for the life she’ll never get back. For her Mama in her arms. For all the lives she ruined. For the fates of the people at the prom.

Only the unfeeling moon slipping in through a window attended her outburst. She knew that it wouldn't lament her in her time of sorrow, only spotlighting her lost soul under a cold and tyrannical white light. 

\------

Katherine entered a bloody scene that would haunt her forever.

She found her in the ruined living room, under a beam of silver moonlight, like heaven itself was spotlighting her sinfulness. She was holding Jane Seymour’s corpse in her arms, rocking back and forth and sobbing. Katherine could see streaks of blood all over her tattered nightgown. She was hurt.

“Joan?” She called softly.

Joan’s head snapped up. Her eyes were as pale and wide as the moon outside.

“Let me help you, Joan,” Katherine approached slowly, as if she were actually trying to corner a scared stray kitten.

Joan bared her teeth for a moment, then looked down at her mother again and burst into a fresh set of tears. Her entire little body shook with the weight of her sobs.

“Why couldn’t you have just left me alone?” She said, her voice nasally and wavering from crying. “N-none of this would have happened if you hadn’t… M-my Mama…” She uttered a long, keening whine that was reminiscent of a dying puppy.

“I—” Katherine faltered. “I’m sorry.”

Joan’s body shuddered and she grit her teeth. An unseen force coiled around Katherine’s body and suspended her in the air tightly. Her breath hitched in shock and she couldn’t breathe. It felt as if the atmosphere was crushing her.

“Look what you turned me into.” Joan whispered.

“P-please don’t hurt me,” Katherine begged.

“Why not?” Joan asked, and a pained smile tugged on her bloody lips. Tears start to roll down her cheeks again. “I’ve been hurt my whole life.”

Katherine stared at her in horror, realizing it was true. The girl before her had been hurt more than she ever had been in her entire eighteen years of life.

How has Joan lived with so much pain inflicted on her tiny little body?

Joan released Katherine from whatever had been holding her, then bent over her mother and whimpered against her bloody shirt. She kept nuzzling into her chest, keening softly, and then looking up at her mother’s face, as if she was hoping her affection and presence would wake her up. When it didn’t work, she tried again and again and again, and it was the saddest thing Katherine had ever seen in her entire life.

“I killed my mama,” Joan whispered. “I want her back!”

It was awful to see a child bound to such a witch of a woman. Katherine knew this lady had hurt Joan severely, and yet Joan still loved her. 

A crack suddenly zigzagged through the wall. Katherine jerked her head around to see several other cobwebs of crevices splinter through the walls around them. The wood holding up the house creaked and then began to shake ominously like an erupting volcano.

“Joan!” Katherine cried. “We need to leave!”

“No.” Joan held firmly to her mother’s corpse, curling against it loyally. “I’m not leaving.”

“Joan, please!” Katherine begged. “I can’t lose you, too!”

That made Joan look up.

For just a moment, Katherine felt a glimmer of hope when Joan sat up slightly, but then she looked back down at the corpse and her body covered in blood and crumpled right back into a fetal position. Katherine then realized that she didn’t just want to stay with her dead mother—she was immobilized by pain and grief and trauma.

Joan wanted to die.

And there was nothing Katherine could do to stop her.

Except--

Katherine took a small step forward. The entire house rumbled. The walls were starting to break themselves into tiny pieces. Chunks of the ceiling were falling loose and Katherine barely managed to duck away before some rubble smashed into her skull.

“Joan--”

She grabbed Joan and scooped her into her arms. 

Joan jolted and then screeched in a fit of outrage instantly. She kicked and squirmed and clawed at Katherine's face, but she was much too little and much too weak to get free. Katherine ran outside with the screaming girl as the house began to crumble.

The walls folded inwards like a collapsed tower of cards, and then the roof came crashing down. The earth shifted and opened into a wide sinkhole that swallowed the house, devouring the walls and the floors and the furniture and all those awful crucifixes Katherine had seen hanging up until there was nothing left to mourn. Dirt and rubble poured down into the abyss, sending a tidal wave of dust crashing into Katherine and Joan.

“MAMA!!!!” Joan shrieked. She fought Katherine even harder, sending them both toppling to the grass. She tried to scramble forward and nearly got caught in a piece of sinking debris, but Katherine grappled onto her dress and yanked her back into her arms. “MAMA! MAMA, NO!!”

She squirmed and struggled, reaching one arm out to the destruction. Her movements were starting to slow down, but her screaming and crying did not seize.

“I’m scared!” Joan wailed. She looked up at Katherine, eye shimmering with tears, and she suddenly looked a lot younger. “I-I hurt! I want my Mama!”

“Shh, shh,” Katherine pulled her closer and rocked her gently, like you would a fussy baby. “It’s going to be okay, Joan. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Joan opened her mouth again, and Katherine expected her to scream once more, but all that came out was a moan. It was only then that Katherine realized just how badly she was wounded.

“Oh god, Joan…”

There was a cut across her right arm and up her stomach, as well as one on her left ankle, a small prick on her back, and slits in her cheeks, but the worst injury was the stab wound in her back, which was still gushing out blood. Katherine ripped off her jacket and pressed it to the injury on her back, which elicited a flinched and a whimper of pain.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Katherine murmured, holding Joan’s head close to her chest. She gently stroked her unruly hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Hurts…” Joan mumbled. Her eyes were suddenly very cloudy and rapidly losing focus. “Mama…?”

“No, Joan.” Katherine said. “It’s Katherine. Katherine Howard. I’m going to help you, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

But Joan’s body was slowly depleting itself of strength and becoming limp in Katherine’s arms. She was losing too much blood.

“Mama.” Joan decided and sluggishly snuggled her head closer to Katherine. Her face was twisted in pain and she was still crying, but Katherine swore she looked just a little happy being held in someone’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Joan,” Katherine whispered. “Oh, sweetie… I’m so sorry.”

Joan was much too dazed to answer, although her mouth was half open like she wanted to. Her eyes were glazed over, distant, and looked like glass orbs in their sockets, leaking out jewel drops of silver tears. Katherine got choked up just looking at her.

“It’s going to be okay, it’s all going to be okay,” She wept, pressing her head against Joan’s and rocking her back and forth again. “I promise, sweetie. It’s going to be okay soon.”

Joan’s head lolled and Katherine kept it firmly in place, even as the rest of her body when limp and cold. Still, she cradled the little girl, crying into the night, lying to Joan and herself over and over again because nothing would ever be okay ever again.

And then, a blindingly bright beam of light hit her and she flinched. The body in her arms was cold and then burning hot and then not there at all. Everything around her melted into nothingness.

“Name, please.”

“...”

“State your full name.”

“You already know my name, it's Katherine! Katherine Howard. Can you turn down that light? I can't see.”

“Tell us about the night of May 28th. About the occurrences that led up to the alleged event.”

“Alleged event? Why are you asking me the same thing over and over again? Are you trying to catch me in a lie? Is that it?”

“We want the truth.”

“I've already told you the truth! How many times do we have to go through this?”

“Until we understand.”

“What you need to understand is that we were just kids! Kids trying to do our best. We were kids...who made a mistake.”

Nineteen year old Katherine Howard leaned back in her chair, arms crossed firmly over her chest, eyes set on the detective in front of her. She was a sharply dressed woman named Victoria Green, with hawk-like facial features, pinned back strawberry blonde hair, and mossy green eyes. Like all adults nowadays, she looked at Katherine like she wanted to open up her brain and read through all her thoughts and memories.

Katherine finally came full circle into an ever-repeating loop of nightmares.

“What can you tell me about Joan Seymour?”


	11. Epilogue

“Do you ever see something you can’t explain? I’m not talking about some strange lights in the sky or Jesus’s face on a tortilla. I’m talking about something that’s not supposed to happen. Like in reality.”

Mulaney tilted his head at the retired coach across the table from him. She was dressed maturely and her hair was neatly combed, leaving no evidence of any trauma retained from the massacre she lived through. Her eyes were calculating and narrowed like a defensive lioness’ as she studied the detective and then his partner for the third time during that interview. She was as sharp-tongued as Katherine Howard before she was switched to a different investigator.

“Like a miracle?” Mulaney asked.

Catalina de Aragon shook her head. “Something else.” She said. She fell silent for a moment, gears in her head visibly turning, then spoke up again, “Do you think you can’t explain what happened on prom night is because what happened wasn’t natural?”

Mulaney raised his eyebrows, which seemed to offend Catalina. She leaned forward against the table and set her jaw.

“Two weeks ago, I saw a steel desk move across the floor without anyone touching it.” She told him. “Five inches. I measured. Joan Seymour was in the room when it happened.”

“Two hundred and thirty-four people died, and you’re trying to sell me on some Weekly World News headlines?” Mulaney said.

Anger flashed in Catalina’s eyes and, for a moment, she looked like she wanted to leap across the table and jam her thumbs into Mulaney’s eyes.

“I don’t need you to tell me how many people died,” She growled. “Half of them were kids I saw every day.”

“I am truly sorry for your loss, Miss Aragon. I am.” Mulaney said. “But–what exactly are you implying here?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just giving you the facts. I might as well tell you it was poltergeists.”

“But you don’t believe that?”

“No.”

“You think it was Joan Seymour?”

“Yes. I do.”

Mulaney studied her, looking her up and down, but the ex-coach didn’t appear to be lying. She believed what she said, despite how absurd it was.

“What exactly did you see on prom night?” He asked.

“I was hanging from an air vent pissing my pants, trying not to get electrocuted.” Catalina spat bluntly. “I didn’t see anything.”

——

**HERE LIES**

**JANE R. SEYMOUR**

**1972-2020**

**JOHANNA M. SEYMOUR**

**2005-2020**

**MAY GOD SAVE THEIR WICKED SOULS**

——

Aragon saw Katherine Howard on the way out of the police department. They were both leaving their interrogations at the same time and stopped like deer in headlights to gawk at each other for a long moment. Then, Katherine ducked her head, almost in an apologetic, truce-like gesture and walked to her car.

It was always strange to see students outside of school, but it was even stranger now that Aragon had quit.

Holbein understood when Aragon emailed him saying she was going to resign, although she doesn’t think it was entirely for the reasons he assumed. The decision wasn’t so much for her own mental health, even though it has taken quite a beating since the Black Prom, but more on the “this is what’s right” and “I can’t go on in this profession” aspect.

Hundreds of children died under her watch. She was only able to get out thirteen. She felt like she failed as a teacher.

Most of them deserved to die, she knew they did, but the fact that so many lives were lost with her there acting as their chaperone, guardian, protector ate away at her mind. 

She would rather kill herself than ever teach again.

Aragon walked to her car and just sat in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, for several minutes. She looked up at the sky, which was grey and rumbling like a fire breathing dragon. It would rain soon. Even Mother Nature herself was trying to wash away the tragedy.

Aragon still remembered the first time she saw Joan Seymour. 

At the beginning of the year, two years ago, it had just been another name among many on her class rosters. Several of her teacher friends told her good luck when she told them about how she got the “strange little religious girl” in her class, and she thought she really needed it. At the time, she hadn’t actually ever met Joan or even seen her for that matter, but from the rumors she heard, the girl brought trouble wherever she went. She thought that year was going to be a hellfest of religious warbling and being told she was a sinner. And then the first day came and she was calling attendance, and heard the tiniest voice say “here” when she came to the final name on the list.

Joan Seymour was like a starved lamb in a pack of wolves- prey that was being left around to be messed with by her peers. She was everything Aragon wasn’t expecting and so much more. She could see so much light in her, beneath all the walls she had put up around herself, so much room to be loved.

Aragon wondered what happened to that light.

She remembered when the maternal instincts hidden inside of her first flared up. It was November of her first year with Joan Seymour. The gym class was a mix between all grade levels, with Year 10’s like Joan and Year 12’s like Anne Boleyn and Year 11’s like Bessie Blount, and–

And there was a scream.

_Now, Catalina de Aragon had heard screaming before. In Year 13 of high school, she vividly remembers watching a school rugby game and one of the players from the other team, she believed they were the Pumas if her memory was correct, broke his arm so savagely it almost looked like it was on backwards. He had dropped to the ground in a blur of black and maroon, bellowing in agony, and at the time Aragon had thought that it was the worst sound she would ever hear in her entire life._

_And then she heard the ricochet of a cry rattle from the girl’s locker room, so loud that she could hear it from outside in the gym, and the first place spot for “Worst Noise She’s Ever Heard” was quickly snatched away from the football player._

_He had screamed. But not like this._

_This scream was piercing, bloodcurdling, and memory-haunting, and it only got worse when Aragon charged into the locker room, leaving a gaggle of wide-eyed students already dressed out behind in startled shock._

_Opening the door and passing through the doorway was like coming out of water in the midst of a war- the scream suddenly became ten times louder and much more ear-splitting. She actually had to clamp her hands over her ears and stop her forward stride to shudder in pain at the intensity of the noise that made her feel like she was going deaf. What could very possibly be 140 to 150 decibels of volume jammed its way directly into her eardrums, stabbing over and over and over again until a ringing was sent jangling through her skull like the aftermath of an explosion._

_To be in the same room as such an outburst of agony, so close to the cause of deafening distress, was so much more bone-chilling than listening to it from stadium bleachers._

_Aragon staggered forward, pulling her hands away from her ears and crossing the corridor threshold into the open space of lockers. There, her current class was huddled in a group of abstract horror around one row, eyes so wide they were nearly popping out of sockets and shaking in abject pant-pissing fear. Aragon wasn’t quite sure who looked more terrified: them, Caroline Casey holding a can of pepper spray, or Joan Seymour frenzying around with her hands over her face, screeching._

_“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?” Aragon roared over the commotion, and everyone except Joan whirled around to face her with ogling bug eyes. They apparently hadn’t heard her come in over the noise. Joan keened again, a loud, drawn-out sound like the cry of a crow being gutted alive._

_“Sh-she–” One girl tried to say, but the words got stuck in her throat when she glanced back at Joan writhing, slamming into the lockers, and scratching desperately at her face._

_“WHAT HAPPENED?” Aragon demanded._

_“I–got startled.” Caroline choked out._

_“Is that PEPPER SPRAY?!” Aragon shouted._

_Caroline looked down at the canister in her hand as if it were an active bomb and suddenly appeared very sick. She doesn’t answer- she can’t. She’s shocked into silence._

_“WHY do you even HAVE IT at SCHOOL?!” Aragon bellowed. Her eyes are wide now, too, as she put the pieces together._

_“I’m sorry!” Helen said._

_Joan wailed tumultuously. She dropped to the ground, screaming helplessly at the ceiling and squirming like she was trying to wriggle out of her own skin. Her hands are still fervently clawing at her eyes as if she were trying to scoop them out of their sockets, and there’s spots of red mixed in with the translucent sheen of pepper spray spattered across her pale face. Aragon quickly pushed Caroline aside, practically throwing the other girls out of the way to get to the panicking student rolling on the floor._

_“Joan! Joan!” Aragon called over the screaming. Joan doesn’t appear to hear her- she just continued to caterwaul and claw like a burning black cat. “Johanna Seymour!” Not even that got through to her, and if it did, it only made her even more distressed. “Joan!!”_

_Aragon finally grabbed the girl by the wrists and yanked her hands away. Without the spindly fingers itching incessantly, she could see her reddened face, gashed skin, and eyes filled with blood._

_“Oh my god,” Someone from behind, Susanne Young, maybe, muttered._

_“IT HURTS!!” Joan’s screams have finally morphed into words, and Aragon isn’t sure which was worse because the screams may have been nightmare-inducing, but the words were like a punch to the stomach with a spiked iron gauntlet. They come out hoarse and high pitched, vowels stretched out in whines and keens of pain, and Aragon’s heart clenched tightly in her chest when they reach her ears. “IT HURTS!! IT BURNS!!!!”_

_Joan writhed beneath Aragon, flailing her arms in the grip that holds them. Her moon silver eyes are upturned in their puckered sockets, saturating in blood, and the whites weren’t even white anymore, rather an awful crimson color with throbbing scarlet veins lacing through them like smoldering snakes. The shredded, bloody eyelids soon slam shut and remain shut, swelling so badly that Joan was temporarily blinded, and that makes her panic even harder._

_“It burns! It burns! IT BURNS!!!” Joan screeched. Her voice became garbled after her final cry and she dissolved into body-breaking coughs that manage to rock Aragon’s own frame from where she’s crouched over her._

_“What do we do?!” Another girl, Silvia Lewis, yawped. She flinched backwards in fright into the arm-locked duo of Katy Yu and Eliza Carroll when Aragon whipped her head around to her, dark brown eyes flashing like jagged ebony stalactites in flickering firelight._

_“NOW you care?” Aragon snarled, loading her voice with as much venom as possible. “Now you care about her? When she’s been fucking pepper sprayed?”_

_All the girls flinch this time. It’s obvious that they’ve never been cussed at by a teacher before, and it gives Aragon just a tiny swell of pleasure. But then Joan sobbed audibly again and it’s replaced with seething rage._

_“It- it was an accident!” Amy Harding tried to defend. “R-really! Caroline didn’t know!”_

_“Oh really?” Aragon said. “I’m sure spraying a kid with fucking pepper spray, which shouldn’t even be brought to school, by the way, is really easy to do om accident!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anne Boleyn clench her jaw and she rounded on her. “Do you have something you want to say, Boleyn?”_

_Anne opened her mouth as if to snark, took one look at Joan’s bloody, burned face, and realized this was not something her father could fix with his lawyer status. Even if she told him that Joan had snapped at her, he would have to agree that being pepper sprayed for it was much, much worse. She grit her teeth and looked away._

_“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” Joan wept. Aragon looked back down at her and felt a sharp stab of guilt when she realized how much time she had wasted scolding the other girls when she should have been treating Joan._

_“It’s okay, Joan,” She told her softly, smoothing down the barbs and thorns in her voice until it’s more like warm honey or silken velvet. “It’s okay… You’re going to be okay.”_

_Joan’s lolling head froze in its process of sweeping back and forth across the scuffed locker room tile. Her brow twitched and her eyelids flutter like she was trying to open them but can’t, and only bloody tears are able to squeeze their way out of the scrunched up sockets. She ‘looked’ in the direction of Aragon’s voice, lips quivering._

_“M-Miss Aragon?” She whispered hoarsely._

_“Yes, it’s me, Joan. It’s just me.” Aragon moved to hold both wrists in one hand and used the other to brush Joan’s cheek tenderly–which was instantly the wrong thing to do because she grazed over a spatter of pepper spray and tiny burning teeth latched onto her fingers and began eating away at her flesh. She bit back a hiss of discomfort to avoid stressing out Joan even more. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”_

_“It hurts,” Joan sobbed. Her eyes screwed shut even tighter, like she thought that it may help block out the pain. “I-it hurts, Miss Aragon. M-make it stop!”_

_“I will, Joan, don’t worry,” Aragon assured her. “Just take deep breaths for me. Can you do that? Deep breaths, sweetheart.” She swiveled her head around to the group of quavering onlookers. Caroline backed up behind Lidia Peterson and Penny Spencer when her glaring eyes skim by, still white-knuckling the canister of pepper spray. “Bessie.”_

_Bessie Blount jolted, but raised her head in an obedient, listening way._

_“Make yourself useful and get a bottle of water and a rag from the showers. Wet it.” Aragon ordered._

_Bessie nodded, but didn’t dare speak up. She scurried off, clipping her shoulder on one of the lockers and tottering sideways for a moment before regaining her balance and continuing with her task. Aragon can hear her tinker with the padlock of her locker in another row, open the door, pull something out, and then hurry into the bathroom area without fully closing the door. She stopped listening after hearing the running water of a sink to glower at the rest of the girls._

_“Get to class.” She said coldly._

_The girls exchanged glances. They seem surprised that they hadn’t been struck dead or something (although Aragon really, REALLY wanted to do so). Then, they disperse without another warning, with Caroline hightailing it out the door first. Bessie returned shortly after with a folded, pulpy paper towel that drips water on the floor and a water bottle. She looked down at Joan as she passed them over and Aragon saw that she was genuinely concerned._

_“Is she…going to be okay?” She asked._

_Aragon was conflicted- she wanted to say yes to make them all feel better, but she really didn’t know. Joan had rubbed her eyes viciously enough to smear the pepper spray further into her sockets and the open cuts she carved into her skin was probably exposed to any lingering residue, too, which would only deepen her anguish. But she didn’t want to say no either because that would just induce panic, so instead she just said, “I’ll take care of her.”_

_Bessie seemed to catch her avoidance of the question by the pinch at her brow and frown on her lips, but she just nodded instead of pointing it out, much to Aragon’s relief._

_“Okay,” She said. She cast one more glance at Joan, who appeared to be trying to figure out where she was, then turned around, gathered her belongings, and walked out._

_“Okay, Joan,” Aragon looked down at her student. “I’m going to pour some water over your eyes, okay? Just keep breathing for me. You’re doing so good.”_

_Joan whimpered. She jolted when the contents of the water bottle were poured over her face, crying out in shock and pain, and a light bulb overhead shattered in millions of burgeoning pieces. Aragon jumped and looked up at it, then back down at Joan, who was now panting and wheezing heavily._

_“H-hurts to b-b–reathe,” She uttered._

_“Oh, Joan…” Aragon murmured. She carefully wiped away the pepper spray residue on Joan’s face with the paper towel, finding that the girl’s skin was suddenly very cold. Her breathing wasn’t normal anymore. She can feel her heartbeat thump heavily beneath her flesh; it’s too fast for even someone in the midst of a panic attack._

_Something was sizzling in Joan Seymour’s skin, and it wasn’t just the pepper spray._

_There’s a clamor from the front of the locker room- Aragon’s next period class started to bustle inside to change out before their minimal time limit was up. Aragon jumped up, causing Joan to whimper in distress at the loss of her presence, and stormed to the entrance corridor. The girls inside stopped, easily picking up that she was on edge, and took a small step back in near-perfect synchronization._

_“You don’t have to change out today.” Aragon said hurriedly. “Or do anything. Just sit in the gym and do whatever. As long as you don’t kill each other or set something on fire, I really don’t care what you do.”_

_The girls blink and exchange looks._

_“Everything okay?” One asked._

_“Fine.” Aragon said, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back. Her posture nearly faltered and crumbled when she heard Joan whimper again. “Go on. Out!”_

_The girls obeyed, quickly exiting in a flurry of binders and backpacks. Once they’re all gone, Aragon hurried back to Joan, who was trying to get up. She yelped and flinched so badly she knocked herself back over when Aragon touched her shoulder, and another light in the first aisle of lockers popped and fizzed out._

_“It’s just me, Joan.” Aragon said. “It’s Miss Aragon.”_

_“Miss Aragon,” Joan repeated to herself in a voice that was barely above a whisper._

_“That’s right,” Aragon nodded, although she knew Joan couldn’t see it. “Joan, I’m going to help you stand up and we’re going to walk over to the showers, okay? The water bottle isn’t working as well as I had hoped. Running water will help flush out your eyes better.” She gently touched Joan’s face and she ‘looked’ up at her. “It’ll make it hurt less.”_

_Joan nodded. She grit her teeth as she’s helped to her feet, staggering, but staying upright. A jewel of blood welled up from a scratch dividing her left eyebrow in two and lazily made its way down her face. She twitched when it tickled her skin and she reached up to swipe it away, but Aragon snatched her hand before she could make contact. Joan jumped and instantly tried to jerk away._

_“Don’t touch your face.” Aragon scolded lightly. “It’ll only make the burning worse.”_

_Joan swallowed thickly, but didn’t say anything. She just nodded silently and obeyed._

_The short walk to the bathroom and shower area was much clumsier than it should have been, with Joan stumbling over her ankles and hitting every outcrop of lockers, even with Aragon guiding her. Lack of sight was numbing her senses and making it hard to listen. Aragon didn’t ever get mad at her, though; blindness, even temporary blindness, would make her a complete nervous, bumbling wreck, too._

_“M-Miss Aragon?” Joan croaked as Aragon cranked the nozzle to a middle-row shower. She turned her head in the direction of the sound of spraying water._

_“Yes?” Aragon gently touched her shoulder to let her know she was there. “I’m right here, honey.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Joan whispered._

_Aragon’s heart sunk into her stomach._ Oh, Joan, please please don’t–

_“I-I didn’t mean to.”_

_A wave of guilt slammed into Aragon, alongside a rumbling riptide of pure rage that roiled through her insides like a storm at sea. She clenched her teeth until she thought they may shatter and wished that she had exacted punishment on all those girls, especially Caroline, instead of sending them to their next class to deal with them later._

_“I’m sorry,” Joan said again, this time much more choked up. Her skin was frigid cold. “M-Miss Aragon?” She reached up a blind hand and lightly touched Aragon’s, which she must have forgotten was on her shoulder. She grabbed it in a way that sent shockwaves of desperation up Aragon’s arm. “I’m sorry…”_

_“Don’t apologize, Joan.” Aragon said firmly. “This wasn’t your fault.”_

_“Okay,” Joan said, but Aragon knew she didn’t believe it. She lowered her voice and rasped out, “It really, really hurts…”_

_“Come on,” Aragon lowered Joan to her knees and tilted her into the warm rain of water shooting from the showerhead. She lifted her chin so the spray would directly hit her face. “There we go… Good girl.”_

_Joan took a deep breath, spitting out water. Streams ran red when they touched her numerous cuts and the blood oozing from her tightly shut eyes turned into puffing clouds of crimson along her cheeks, but at least everything was getting flushed out._

_Aragon risked getting wet when she reached over and began to rub soothing circles against Joan’s back. She swore the girl arched her spine into her touch, exhaling a soft sigh of relief–or maybe contentment. She wasn’t quite sure, but at least it wasn’t a sad or angry sigh, although Joan had every reason to be sad and/or angry._

_“It felt like a hot knife.”_

_Joan’s rough, husky voice jarred Aragon out of her thoughts. Silence had descended upon the two of them for about five minutes, the only sound being the hiss of the overhead faucet and the low creak of pipes. Aragon blinked a haze of black spots out of her vision; her hand was still on Joan’s back, no longer rubbing, but the fingers were still grazing up and down tenderly, with the thumb gliding in soothing strokes._

_“Or a fire poker. Like the ones you use for fireplaces.”_

_“What?” Aragon said._

_Joan craned her neck to look at her, and her eyes were open. They were reddish-blue-silver jewels in a nest full of restless red snakes. Trails of water cascading over her face cause the dozens of cuts around the sockets to glow in hues of neon pink and burning scarlet. She tilted her head at Aragon._

_“When I got sprayed,” She specified. “And you know what I thought when it happened?”_

_“What?” Aragon said again, this time with dread pooled in the pit of her stomach like a dark oil spill._

_“‘Thank God,’” Joan said. A small, weak smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she looked down at her hands, where bits of her flesh still clung beneath her nails. “I wasn’t angry. Or upset. It did hurt, though. Really badly. But after everything–after everything I’ve been through–” Her arms dropped limply to her sides and she turned her head back to Aragon. “It felt good to not have to see.”_

_Aragon was silent. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror._

_How could a child think like that? How could they be treated so poorly that they have to think like that?_

_“I’ve never been blinded before,” Joan went on, musing her words like she didn’t realize how traumatic they were. She lifted a hand and gently touched one eye, as if she were reminding herself that it was still there. “It was–scary. Really scary. I’m–used to darkness, but–that was different. It wasn’t black, but really, really bright. So bright my head started to hurt–still hurts–and there were these flashes of color and it all mixed together into this big mess. But still-” She shifted on her knees, sloshing water around her. “I thought that not seeing anymore would make things better. Somehow. Maybe then I would be pathetic enough for people to leave me alone.” Her eyes gleam; Joan is crying. “But it wouldn’t end up being like that, would it? I’m never granted such mercy.” She flicked the water around her bitterly, then had to scrunch her eyes shut again when the pain registered again._

_“Were you–” Joan cocked her head in the direction of Aragon’s head to let her know that she was listening. Aragon’s hand on her back clenched a fistful of soggy pale yellow sweater. “Are you happy?”_

_“Now?”_

_“Ever.”_

_Joan ‘looked’ up at the ceiling like she was deep in thought, and Aragon already had her answer._

_Fury bubbled in Aragon’s stomach, while pity and grief squeezed her heart to the point of nearly bursting apart. It wasn’t fair. It was so unfair for a child to have to live like this._

_Joan had tipped her head down and apparently stopped thinking by the time Aragon was finished stewing in anger and conflict. And that’s when Aragon realized that Joan didn’t look even a little angry or conflicted. Or upset or sorrowful or anguished or vengeful._

_She just looked tired._

_Not just tried, though- Jaded._

_“How are your eyes?” Aragon asked._

_Joan gently touched one. “They still burn. Badly. But not as bad as before.”_

_“Yeah, they’re probably going to hurt for awhile.” Aragon frowned. She cupped Joan’s cheeks, which felt so hollow and sunken beneath her fingers, and she cradled her head. “Can you open your eyes, honey? So I can see them?”_

_Joan struggled, but managed to pry open her eyelids and keep them open for Aragon to inspect. They were bloodshot and definitely looked like they were hurting, but at least they weren’t bleeding anymore. Aragon gently stroked her thumb across her cheekbone._

_“Maybe I’m not happy,” Joan blurted._

The memory cut out abruptly, any other voices of remnant fading away, and Aragon finally accepted that Joan was right. She wasn’t happy, and Aragon began to worry if she ever really was in her entire life.

Aragon leaned back in her seat and rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes. She sniffled, but willed herself not to cry. She just–

She tried so hard to help that poor child. She didn’t want to believe that Joan was really as broken as she seemed, that she still had a chance of recovering, but she finally came to terms that not everyone can be saved. Joan was too far gone for Aragon to pull her out of the blackhole she was stuck in. But maybe if she had just tried a little harder, if she checked on her more often, if she did something sooner– Maybe things wouldn’t be the way they were now.

Maybe Joan would still be here.

But it didn’t matter anymore. Joan, several of her teacher friends, and hundreds of her students were dead, and nothing was going to bring them back.

Aragon sighed and finally buckled her seatbelt and got to driving. She had to get to her house to start packing. She was going back home to Spain, to her family, and find a job there. Perhaps the memories of the Black Prom will be less crushing when she was so far away from the site of the massacre, but she doubted it. Trauma never died.

——

Water.

Water was what the air in and around this part of the city smelled like the most.

It was in the deep, earthen musk of the damp soil that lay beneath the lush, dew-soaked grass.

It was in the marshy fumes, sometimes sulfurous, sometimes sickly-sweet, of the patches of hidden swamp that lay in wait for unsuspecting feet.

It was in the carpets of fallen leaves that hid hollows between the tree roots, where pools could collect and play host to all things that crawled or squirmed through the wet.

It was in the very forest itself, coating wet leaves and bleeding from the dark, pulpy wood of the gnarled, old trees.

There was nothing dry about this place.

Fog, ghostly-grey and creeping on silent feet, drifted in low wisps over the crumbled and cold earth, painting the normally-stark outlines of the trees so pale that they faded into the sky rather than stood boldly against it. The mist had dissipated somewhat since anyone had last passed through this particular stretch of rarely-visited meadow, but not by much. Hours, though, or perhaps a day before, it had been as oppressive and thick as cold clam chowder.

Now it was slowly thinning out, listlessly lacking the eerie, almost lifelike malevolence with which it had pressed in upon the very soul before. There was a certain…uncertainty about the way it was hovering now, no longer pouring into every little hollow and alcove like milk over cereal. It was just there.

There, in a sort of in-between way. Lingering.

All was still, and–save for the rhythmic pitter-patter of falling rain–all was silent as well.

Except for herself, of course.

It was movement in the stillness that preceded the first disruption of the tranquility of the forest; the silk-thin web of drifting mist that hung in the air like lace slowly began to slide forward, rolling away from her feet like a translucent white carpet, perhaps in front of some ghostly noble attending an afterlife celebration in their name. Right from the Black Prom, her movement through this strange, still world, which her life had become, had felt alien and out of place, but it had never felt that way more than right now.

With each footstep, a narrow patch of soggy grass pressed down and sent a miniature pool of moisture bubbling up around the edges of her boots and in through invisible gaps in the leather, oozing into her already-saturated socks and settling in icy little pools in the dips where her toes went, setting the blisters on the skin alight with fresh pain. If her feet hadn’t already been numb from the wet and cold, she might have cared more. But everything from her toes to her feet and the soaked leather that clung stiffly to them was in no shape to feel anything but the dull warning sting of oncoming pins and needles.

Besides, Bessie had other things on her mind right now.

Like how it was said that the school was being shut down for an undetermined amount of time to repair what had been charred.

Like how she heard that Miss Aragon had quit and wouldn’t be teaching ever again.

Like how lifting her feet from the indents they made in the muddy undergrowth kept on getting harder and harder to do. Her legs felt heavier with each step and the little grassy pools made squelchy noises of protest, sucking hungrily at her feet each time they left the earth. Behind her in the grass, there was a long trail of tiny shoe-shaped lakes, like murky little grey-green cousins of the ones she would see when she would take trips out to the bay.

Like what had happened just three weeks before.

There was a _clank-CLONK_ and a gentle patter as droplets of condensation came raining down from where they’d collected on the bars of the cemetery gate. There was no real latch, so she just pushed it open. There had been one once, but it had rusted away under the perpetual wet.

…Or maybe it hadn’t.

The gate’s movement ground to a halt after a mere few inches, hindered by tufts of almost-oily grass which had been allowed to grow out of control around the edges of the compound for what had probably been years. They snagged on the metal almost as though they were alive, gripping its frame with the sort of desperation one normally only saw from a particularly needy child clinging to its mother’s arm while she was on her way to work.

A half-hearted hiss of frustration escaped her as the gate’s creaking cut off. She clenched sore and swollen fingers around the wet bars, feeling flakes of rust and ancient, now-colorless paint crumble away and stick to her fingertips, which the condensation in the air had turned pruny and pale pink, like anemic raisins. When further shoving only yielded that rubbery, elastic sound that wet wild grass sometimes got, she let out a puff of air and gave up for the moment, leaning in to rest her forehead against the cool metal as she slouched, peering through the bars at the army of tombstones lined up within. She was so close to relief and salvation and maybe even a little bit of closure, and a damn hunk of metal was standing in her way.

Bessie tried one more time, desperation straining through her pulls, but she gave up when the flowers in her hands were nearly crumpled in her attempt. She would have to go around through the front, much to her dismay.

Nothing was worse than visiting a cemetery on a rainy, gloomy day. That was why she had been trying to get in through a backdoor in the first place; she didn’t want to pound her abysmally low mental health further into the ground by being seen by people when she entered, even though it was a perfectly normal thing to do. A lot of people were going to the cemetery lately, anyway. But never had she thought she would be one of the mourners.

The gatekeeper looked almost suspicious when she shambled up to the wide gothic front gate, and she didn’t really blame him. She didn’t have an umbrella, she was whiteknuckling a handful of flowers like her life depended on it, and her shoes were covered in so much mud that it looked like she had just been dredged out of a mudslide. But, then again, most people who visit a cemetery in the rain must all take on such an appearance in some way, so he shook off the expression on his face and asked for the plot number of the grave being visited. Bessie told him, he checked to make sure she was telling the truth and not just trying to get in to grave rob or something, and then opened the gate. Bessie thanked him and stepped inside the cemetery.

And, like that, all the strength was drained out of her body. It was the same sensation she felt when she was crawling through the air vents to escape the school, a coagulated sense of shell-shock that was like having the flu. After the night of the Black Prom, small physical tasks that she would have normally have found easy took everything out of her, like how taking a simple step forward was right now.

Though it’s steadily getting better, or so she likes to tell herself, the ordeal has scarred her. In a close community like this, there’s no escaping it. The tragedy hit all of Oxford hard. A lot of the kids who died were well-liked in the city, it didn’t matter if they picked on some poor religious outcast. They still– _died._

_God…_

Bessie will never survive it if she can’t find a way to put the Black Prom deaths in the past where they belong. It would be devastating if she sank any further into the pit this disaster has left behind. It’s not like she was embraced by the student body of Kingston High as much as Anne Boleyn or Katherine Howard in the first place, but she, like the other thirteen survivors (counting Miss Aragon) had gone from being someone who was just there like everyone else, living a day-to-day life to a full-blown pariah. Nobody said recovering from being one of just a few survivors of a large massacre would be easy, but at this point she’s just hoping that it’s even possible.

Strange, how she can live her entire life in one place and take it for granted just to have it turn on her so completely. The shops, the woods, the school, the park, her house, Main Street–these places that she grew up in haven’t changed on the outside, but now they all just feel so empty when they’re missing two hundred and thirty-four teenage bodies mulling around them.

The loss is visceral, as if something vital was ripped out of her body when they died and the wound was still fresh. If she’s feeling this way, it must be unimaginable for the families.

Bessie began to walk down the stone pavement that was clean of any weeds that may grow in between the rocks, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. There were only a few people in the cemetery, all with fitting black umbrellas, as if the dark color was a mandatory dress code for grave-visiting. Most of them didn’t look up at her as she passed by, but one glanced over and seemed to recognize her as one of the survivors of the Black Prom. The woman’s nose wrinkled and she snapped her head back down, blinking back a furious wave of tears.

Bessie had never thought she would be a survivor of a massacre, but she definitely never expected the contrasting reactions to such from other people. Most are sympathetic and are gentle with her, as if they may think the slightest thing would shatter her into pieces, while others are insanely curious and want to know everything they can, usually reigniting poorly put down trauma in the process. And then there’s those who just hated her guts. Because they were jealous. Jealous that she got out alive and not their son or daughter, sister or brother, best friend or boyfriend or girlfriend. They didn’t think it was fair, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Bessie to be treated this way. But, in a way, she felt the same way they felt, wondering why she of all people had to live and not somebody much more important.

Her knees felt weak by the time she almost reached her destination and she thought she may black out before she even got there, but then she noticed something that made her sober up instantly from her daze.

The Seymour tombstone.

It was upright, like most of the tombstones in the cemetery, stretched out to fit two names, and was a plain grey color. There was a black cross etched at the top and had no flowers surrounding the base, unlike all the other graves.

**HERE LIES**

**JANE R. SEYMOUR**

**1972-2020**

**JOHANNA M. SEYMOUR**

**2005-2020**

**MAY GOD SAVE THEIR WICKED SOULS**

That was what was written upon the granite. It seemed even the creator of the stone knew about the Seymour family’s damnation.

Someone was standing in front of the tombstone. Bessie blinked her eyes rapidly, as if she thought she were seeing a ghost, then slowly walked up beside the person.

A long silence descended upon the two of them, neither speaking or acknowledging the other’s presence. Glancing over, Bessie could see tassels of short reddish-brown-blonde hair around the black umbrella they were holding over their head at an angle.

“Did you know her?” The stranger asked. Their voice, tinged with what Bessie believed was a Danish accent, cut through the mist and fog and rain, taking Bessie by surprise.

“Yeah.” Bessie replied. “We went to school together.”

The stranger nodded slowly, not looking at Bessie. Their gaze was fixed on the tombstone with intense curiosity.

“Did you?”

They shook their head. “Not personally. By word of mouth.” They said. “Kind of hard to not know Oxford’s resident psycho.” They chuckled harshly.

Bessie grimaced. A tidal wave of guilt came crashing down on her when Joan was referred to in such a way. It reminded her of all that she had done to the girl and all that she had said. And for what? Clout? Attention from the popular kids? An excuse not to hate herself because as long as she puts someone else down then she won’t be the most pathetic piece of garbage in the school? A reason to forget, even if it was just for a few hours at a time, that she was her mother’s unwanted aborted afterbirth gratuitously carved out of an abyss of awful red placenta, shaped into a human being with too bleached hair and too much of a passion to be accepted and too many feelings?

No reason could justify what she’s done.

What did it cost to be kind? 

“Yeah,” Bessie muttered, and her tongue felt like it was made of lead. She had to get to her destination now.

But first–she snapped off one of the flowers in her bouquet and placed it on Joan Seymour’s side of the grave. Curious hazel eyes followed her momentarily as she staggered away.

She walked and walked, slower and slower as she got closer to her destination: she doesn’t want to be there alone, she doesn’t want to accept that it happened, and that there was no one waking her up and telling her that it’s all a nightmare. But she’s there and, for a moment, her breath gets caught in her throat, a bundle of emotions that are finally finding their strength to come up and be heard.

She doesn’t want to be there.

But then, finally, she was.

It was a kerbed headstone, upright with a bed of marble stretching out for flowers and other offerings to the dead, which was already loaded with various flowers and a few small trinkets. The tomb was ebony black and embedded with tiny flecks of silver quartz that looked like sparkling stars in a clear night sky. Carved out in gold lettering, the bearer of the tomb was written out:

**IN LOVING MEMORY OF**

**ANNA VON CLEVES**

**SEPTEMBER 22, 2002**

**MAY 28th, 2020**

**A wonderful Daughter, Sister, and Friend**

It was hard to divide up her grief, when Bessie had so many people to mourn–her peers, her teachers, her friends most of all, even Joan in a way. 

But losing Anna, though…most days, that was the worst of all.

“Hey, Anna,” She said, and her voice broke almost instantly. The tears came fast, pricking like hot needles in her eyes and cascading down over her cheeks before she could even try to blink them away. “I brought you some things.”

She brandished the red flowers to the tombstone, as if Anna were actually perched on top of it, smiling at her and looking excited over the gift.

“They’re gladioluses.” Bessie told the tomb. “They–they symbolize strength.” She swallowed thickly, biting back the lump welling up in her throat. “They reminded me of you.”

She tentatively set the flowers on the rim of the black marble bed. Her fingers fumbled together for a moment, then began pulling something else out.

“I also brought you this,” She said. “I know–I know you always liked it. You would always touch it because it was soft when you would come over, so I–I thought you would want it.”

She set a tan dog stuffed animal with big floppy ears on the front of the marble bed. She realized her hands were shaking when she pulled her arms back and swallowed hard again.

“I–” The words caught in her throat. She scratched at her neck with one finger, trying to muster up the will to speak. “I was thinking–about dyeing my hair red. In memory of you. I hope you don’t think that’s weird.” She paused, took a breath, then went on, forcing out a giggle alongside her sentence, “I’m probably gonna look really silly though.” And then, much quieter, wringing her hands together, “I wish you were here to do it with me.”

Silence fell upon the girl and the grave. The stuffed dog’s fur was starting to grow damp and dark from the drizzling mist. Bessie kept her eyes closed for a long moment, praying to a god she didn’t even really believe in. Her hands were clasped tight and she brought them to her stomach, imagining what it would be like to find absolution in a blade. She would plunge and drag and drag and _drag_ until there was nothing left of her but shredded flesh and blood, but that would not be enough, not for her. It would not give her her friend back. It would not give her the shouts and the laughs and the boisterous cries at all hours of the morning and night. That was not what Anna would have done if it had been Bessie that had been stabbed and burned in that gym instead.

But she wasn’t as strong as Anna.

Bessie didn’t really realize exactly how loud she was crying until her shaking breath hitched so high it sounded like a squeak. She blinked through the haze of tears and scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve, but the merciless flow did not stop. 

A little brown bird landed on a grave nearby and fluffed out its wet wings. A grazing deer on the other side of the tall black fence was munching contently on some wild flowers, not at all concerned about or aware of the grief going on just a few yards away. Some type of bug was buzzing in the grass somewhere from behind. The person at the Seymour tombstone finally turned and walked out of the cemetery.

Looking around at this all, Bessie was shocked by how the world kept running and running while hers had stopped its run not so long ago.

The summer leaves are dancing around her, whisked from the towering oak trees by the foggy gales and sent into a whirling axis in the sky. A humidly warm, but also bone-chillingly cold breeze was trying to offer a comfort that seemed to be invisible and impalpable. There can’t be comfort. There can’t be reassurance. The pain is still too loud, the wound is still too raw: her heart and her soul aren’t ready to accept that there was a reason for what has happened; her mind was still trying to distinguish between reality and fantasy, between the soothing effect of a false illusion and the harsh truth of a world deprived by its most beautiful voice.

“Why?” She wondered but there was only pattering raindrops and whisking nature replying to her, and that lack of words is an absence that stings more than she can accept.

“Why?”

She had wondered for too long but still nothing has come up and maybe it will never be answered because sometimes life is like that, a storm in the middle of a summer day and its lingering residue following her for weeks and months. Maybe one day she’ll stop asking herself that but, for now, it’s just all she can think about, over and over again.

It doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense and it has been like that since she saw the sight, just a few flashes of images on a stage, blood and a pipe and a collapsing body, that had stumbled down her life and shattered it. She can still see them behind her eyes, she can still feel the way her own heart had stopped beating as a black void started to envelop her. She still felt like she’s down there, trapped in a nightmare that no one knows how to stop or break.

It doesn’t make sense.

There was regret in her body language. There was a baggage full of words that should have been said and things that she should have done. Maybe, if she had done them, nothing would have ever happened. Or, maybe if she hadn’t done anything at all in the first place.

Bessie wished she could go back in time. She wished there was a way for her to erase all those tiny mistakes she’s made, all those times she wanted to reach out but, instead, turned her head away because it still hurt. Her friendship, her best friend was– _is still_ –the most important thing in her life and, yet, she let it slip away in fear of what the world would have said if she had confessed how she truly felt. Her image was everything and, yet, what is left now? There’s no image to defend, there’s nothing left because Anna’s death has destroyed everything.

So she wishes. She wonders and wishes that there was a way for her to save just a few lives.

Their lives.

Her life.

There are still tears in her eyes. She wanted to believe it’s because of the weather and the wind but it’s just a useless alibi. She lets them fall, not ashamed anymore because there was no one around to watch her. But she felt like a hypocrite, she felt like she didn’t have the right to cry that loss because she could have done so much to prevent Anna’s absence.

To prevent her death.

She knew it’s the truth, no matter how many times people keep telling her that she’s done nothing to cause the incident. She knew it’s the truth, no matter how many people try to explain how, sometimes, she can’t save everyone. That bad things just happen to good people.

“I’m sorry.”

She knew it’s too late.

She knew that it’s useless because Anna’s not there to hear that word.

Maybe she’s listening, like Miss Aragon had said to her during Anna’s funeral. Maybe she’s been watching her down from heaven, because that’s where she is now, along with all her other friends who perished in the fires, those tortured souls hidden behind a smile and an endless laugh. She remembered it. She remembered how Maria’s sweet voice always went directly to her heart and pulled strings that never hurt. She remembered how Maggie’s laugh made her feel better, especially those days when the world was so set on destroying her balance and sanity. She remembered how Anna’s face would light up when she walked into Mr. Stephens’s class every morning, bright eyes that shone like daily stars. But, most of all, she was addicted to _Anna’s_ voice, _Anna’s_ laugh, _Anna’s_ smile and eyes. She craved Anna’s everything in ways that were so deep and powerful that, after a while, she stopped asking herself what magic they held. So she turned to Anna, she made Anna laugh over and over again because she was selfish, she was in pain and only that laugh, that smile, that voice, those eyes could save her from the deepest and darkest waves.

Regrets don’t leave Bessie, not even now that she’s standing in front of the consequences of her ignorance. 

It’s her fault. 

She kept telling herself it as if this admission of truth could absolve her sin. It’s her fault because she promised but it was always so easy to forget about it: there wasn’t ever the need to- she had always been the one that needed help the most in the friend group it seemed. She had always been the one fate had chosen to deal bad cards: her family, her relationships, those idiotic statements and those stupid decisions.

But then there was Anna. Anna’s comforting words, gentle touch, light hearted jokes to make her smile–the way they would just… _be there_ and make things better in ways that were difficult to explain to the world that had never seen her in private.

Why didn’t Bessie do the same for her? Or for any of her friends?

Why didn’t Bessie come out and defend Maria when all those voices wanted a piece of her soul? Why didn’t Bessie come out and be there for Maggie, not only when those cracks in her voice were so out for everyone to hear and judge? Why didn’t Bessie let Anna know that those voices weren’t true?

Why didn’t Bessie let Anna know that she was the purest soul she’s ever met?

“I’m sorry.”

Bessie _was_ sorry. She could have done more. She could have told them more. She could have _told her._

She should have known better.

Bessie should have known better, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to realize that her superhero might be needing a hero herself and she was too afraid or too busy to be up to the task.

She depended on Anna and now she’s lost.

Alone.

Bessie heard a whimper and realized it’s herself. She hiccuped and struggled to breathe for a moment. With visibly shaking hands, she fished her phone out of her pocket and unlocked it. The lock screen was her and Anna at a dog shelter they had been helping out at seven months ago. 

She opened up her messaging app, smearing water across the screen in the process, and found Anna’s contact. The name was, “Anna Banana”.

Bessie: I know it’s too late, but…I just wanted to tell you that I love you.

Bessie: Don’t worry about replying.

——

George wasn’t as sad as everyone thought he was. And he understood why he should be and why they assumed such, Anne was his big sister, but Anne had also done awful things that even he couldn’t feel sorry for her bloody fate.

On the night of the Black Prom, after the horrid blood dump, he and Jane escaped by going after Anne and Cathy with Anna. After losing sight of his sister and her girlfriend, Anna said she was going to go back inside to get Joan, and that was the last time he ever saw his friend. Anna’s death messed him up more than Anne’s did.

Mother fell to the floor, screaming and crying, when the officer arrived to tell the family the news. Father became very pale white and stopped breathing for a moment. When Mary was called at college, she was silent for a long time and then stammered when she spoke. George just wore a solemn expression on his face and shook his head. He was the first to see the body, since his parents weren’t up to it, and he sighed at the mutilation in the ambulance, then told the officers what his sister had done.

The funeral was difficult. Anne had to be sewn back together, but it still didn’t look like her in the casket. The corpse seemed more like a pasty wax replica of the sister he thought he knew.

His mind has been running wild since then. So many thoughts whirled through his head. He wondered if he could have prevented what had happened, although he was doubtful. It wasn’t his fault, no matter what his brain tried to tell him. He didn’t kill the pigs, he didn’t fill the buckets, he didn’t pull the string.

It wasn’t his fault.

But still. Emotions have risen into a fever pitch. The dreary, grey weather definitely didn’t help, either. He had to get out of the house, away from Anne’s lingering presence in his home life, so he drove out to the closest beach he could access, parked on the bay, and just watched the storm for hours.

The beach reminded him of better times. Back when things weren’t as messed up as they were. Back when Anne hadn’t been such a monster.

One of his fondest memories was of when he was eleven, Anne was twelve, and Mary was thirteen. They were playing at a sparkling beach while their parents watched from underneath a rainbow umbrella, and he specifically remembered Mary meticulously digging a hole on the shoreline. 

“OI!!” His oldest sister had roared from inside the giant crater. “Get you big galumphing feet out of here!”

The offender, George, peered down at her from where he was perched precariously on the edge. “I don’t even know what that word means!” he had said. “But I’ll show you what galumphing REALLY looks like!”

Anne’s head popped out from the hole at the same time as George had jumped into it. The three of them fell into a tangled tizzy, grunting and gibbering and giggling loudly like sparring puppies in a playpen. They had begun to wrestle, getting absolutely covered in wet sand.

George smiled fondly at the memory. Those were the good days. It’s a shame, he thinks, how much things have changed since then.

He sighed and turned on the windshield wipers, then leaned back into his seat, thinking.

Joan was dead, too, apparently, and that was another person he was more distraught over than his own sister. That poor girl. He really liked her and was looking forward to hanging out with her more often. Too bad it’ll never ever happen.

After that, he couldn’t get Joan out of his head, so he tried to find some closure by visiting her grave. 

There was a single flower upon the mound of dirt, and George didn’t think the man standing before the tomb was the one who put it there.

“Oh– Sorry.” George said, backing away when the man looked at him. “I was just–”

The man looked him up and down, then made a motion with his head, signaling for George to come beside him. George did.

The man was huge, with tufts of blonde hair and a big bristly beard. He wasn’t using an umbrella, but didn’t really look like he cared that he was getting wet. He studied the tombstone intently.

“You know them?” He asked in a deep, gruff voice.

“I knew Joan.” George answered honestly. “We hung out at prom together. I like to think that we were friends, even in the short amount of time we knew each other.” He shifted, bowing his head. “I hope she knew that.”

The man nodded with a rumbling humming noise.

“Did you know them?” George asked.

The man looked at George, and his eyes were a startlingly bright blue.

“In a way,” He said.

——

The smell of the ocean is salty, wet, and overpowering. After everything that had happened in the past three weeks, Katherine was convinced that this was what freedom smelled like.

After Mulaney couldn’t get anything “useful” out of her, she was switched to a new detective, Victoria Green, who was at least willing to listen to reason and rationalized her story much more than her male counterpart did. But still, all the questions and constant repetition was hellish and definitely not the birthday gift she was wishing for when she recently turned nineteen. Not that it would be easy to celebrate with such matters on her hands.

Katherine stepped out of her car fully, breathing in the fresh ocean air. Seagulls were squawking loudly from a distance, and the splashing of the waves alongside the gentle rocking of the ferry created a soothing lull that sedated the stress in her mind.

She weaved around other cars waiting to arrive at mainland Europe and walked onto the deck. Distant city lights were mere winking twinkles in the distance, and the ocean seemed like an endless roiling black abyss of tranquility. The sky was spread wide open and ran free from horizon to horizon.

After everything, it was nice to get away from it all, even for just a few hours. Even if it was just one ferry ride and a single short drive around, then back to interrogation the next day. It loosened so much tension in her body that had seemed to have her snared in a vicious bear trap.

Only a few people were on the deck, most deciding to stay in their cars, sheltered from the misty weather. There was a woman smoking on a bench, a kid gazing out at the ocean, two young children haphazardly jumping up and down to try and see any dolphins by the guard rail, and a man taking a few pictures of the city in the distance. Katherine walked over to the railing to look at the water and took in another deep breath to ease her lungs.

“It’s so beautiful,” Murmured the person to Katherine’s left. They were staring up at the sky with a wistful expression, starlight shimmering against their deep, rich brown eyes.

“It is.” Katherine agreed, nodding.

“Have you ever been on a ferry before? Because I haven’t.” The person asked, initiating small talk of sorts. It was refreshing for Katherine, so much better than the interrogation questions from the detectives and the concerned statements her family are always giving her now. 

“A few times,” Katherine answered. “When my family would take trips, we would usually just ride the ferry or take the Eurotunnel because it’s cheaper than flying.” She chuckled lightly.

“If I may–” Said the person, “Where did you go? Like, on your trips?”

“France, Germany, Poland, Belarus, Norway, even Iceland! Of course, we had to fly there, though. Don’t think a ferry would go that far.” She actually managed a real laugh, despite the comment not being that funny. 

“Wow,” The person said, looking starstruck. They swept their brown-red bangs out of their eyes, adjusting circular gold glasses on their freckled nose. “That sounds like so much fun.”

“It was,” Katherine smiled at the memories. 

She looked back at the ocean stretched all around her. The water below was roiling, waves crashing and clapping loudly against the ferry. Something in the sea seemed agitated, Katherine could feel it. Like even nature itself knew something terrible had happened.

“It wasn’t your fault,” She whispered. 

That was something Katherine kept telling herself over and over again, and she knew it was true, no matter how scared she was, no matter what any news station said. She just had to remember that, even if nobody else did.

“It wasn’t all your fault.” She said again, this time a little louder. The ocean noises and the boat blocked out most noises from listening ears, not that anyone seemed to care what she was saying.

Joan looked at her, peering out through silver eyes that were muted by dark brown contacts, but didn’t say anything. She turned her head forward again, touching and fixing her fake glasses in a nervous tick of sorts. Anxiety was written all over her face.

“I’m sorry you can’t stay in England,” Katherine said for what felt like the hundredth time. Joan told her she didn’t have to apologize the first time, but she was still so sorry. Being smuggled out of the one place she knew–it must have been so scary for Joan. And Katherine being the mastermind behind the scheme didn’t give her much peace of mind. “It’s just–” She went on, “People thinking you’re dead is sort of contingent on nobody seeing you alive.”

Katherine took it as a miracle that Joan was even alive. After the girl had gone limp in her arms, she thought all was lost, that it was over, but then the bleeding abruptly stopped and Joan’s heartbeat continued to flutter, weak, but there. Katherine then wasted no time getting her into her car and driving her to her house. Her oldest sister was a vet, so she snatched her pair of keys to the local animal hospital and broke in for the necessary supplies.

In her car, she cleaned, disinfected, stapled, and sutured Joan’s wounds with no anesthesia to the best of her ability. It was a messy and uncomfortable process for the both of them, with Katherine being confined to the cramped space of her vehicle for the amature sewing treatment and Joan getting sharp things put into her skin without any drugs to make her numb. Katherine had debated using some, but didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally killing Joan with dog sedatives when she was already barely clinging to life.

After Joan was treated, Katherine housed her in an old storage garage her family rarely ever went to, filling it with blankets and lanterns, food and water, fans and extra pairs of clothes. She knew it must have been scary and awful and painful lonely for Joan, but she had nowhere else to hide her until she got a plan, so that was where the girl stayed for three weeks. Katherine visited every day, always checking up on her little stowaway when she got the time, but it soon became apparent that neither could live like this. So that’s when Katherine created the plan to get Joan out of England.

“Where will I go?” Joan asked in a tiny voice. There was fear in her eyes; she didn’t want to be alone anymore, but they had no choice.

“I don’t know.” Katherine admitted, biting her lip. “Somewhere where they don’t know you.”

Joan nodded sadly and looked back down at the water. Katherine knew she wasn’t going to last long on her own.

“I can take you as far as Paris,” Katherine said. “But then I have to come back.” She wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered.

Katherine quirked a tiny smile. “Come on,” She said. “Rest in the car. You’re going to need energy.”

Joan nodded and they both walked back to the car. Joan fell asleep rather quickly, leaning her head against the window and drifting off, but it wasn’t long before she suddenly jerked awake with a gasp, sweating and breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” Katherine asked worriedly, glancing away from the road they were back to driving on.

Joan turned her head very slowly, fearfully, as if she were expecting someone else, something horrifying, to be sitting in the driver’s seat. She swallowed thickly.

“Do you need me to pull over?”

“No,” Joan whispered, her voice sounding strangled. “Sorry.” She rubbed her face with a sluggish hand, then ripped off the red-brown wig she was having to wear. Locks of white-blonde hair instantly came tumbling free down her back and shoulders. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Katherine offered.

Joan actually choked a tight laugh. “It’s dumb,” She said. “I just–had dream. About Miss Aragon.”

Katherine looked at her curiously. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Joan nodded. “We were–we were close.” She wrung her hands together like a nervous baby pangolin trying to muster up the courage to ask for food at a friend’s house. “But–in the dream she–she said that she loved me like her very own daughter.” She finally managed to say, the words wobbling out of her mouth like someone shaking them out of a bottle. “She said…she said that she was gonna–she was gonna _adopt me._ ”

Katherine’s breath caught in her throat. Her chest suddenly felt as tight as a noose. The kind of pain that happened when you swallowed too much water at once, and it stretched and gouged all the way down through your chest like a burrowing worm.

She closed her hand tighter around the steering wheel because there was nothing else she could think of to do–like maybe if she squeezed that semi-pliable ring of rubber and cloth as hard as she could, some of the tightness and pain would bleed out of her chest. It was the only way she could bear to keep watching the young girl in the passenger’s seat beside her.

At long last, a few tears dribbled down from Joan’s contact-covered eyes and over her cheeks (which had been growing redder and redder with the effort of holding them back). She had lost the battle with her mouth, allowing the tenuous trembling to become a yank at the corners, pulling her lips into a long, fishlike downwards curve. Her voice was beginning to skip like a broken record.

“She was g–she was g-gonna _adopt_ me…”

Katherine felt her own eyes burn and she turned to the windshield, which the rain had blurred into a muted grey painting.

Beside her, Joan spluttered and hiccuped and coughed, her chest hitching as she tried valiantly to keep speaking. But the oncoming sobs chopped her words up like vegetables under an inexperienced hand’s paring knife.

“So… S-so she t-t-took me home with h-her and m-m-made me feel so s-s-special. She l-l-let me d-do things my Mama never allowed. But n-now Miss Aragon was my Mama and I was _happy_. For o-one in my miserable life, I was _happy_!”

Katherine’s hand raised upwards to cover her mouth with more force than was necessary, sending creeping threads of pain up the bridge of her nose. Her eyes had shut tight for a moment–she realized that the _rain_ was not what was blurring her view out the windshield.

Joan was crying openly now, her face crinkled, puffy and red, glistening with tears. Her fingers were clenched tightly on either side of her, white-knuckled. There were tracks in the velvet from where her fingernails had scraped into fists. The gasping had trailed off, but in exchange, it had taken with it any semblance of composure.

“I was _happy_ , Katherine.”

Katherine bluntly jabbed her thumb into the lid of her tender eye and her own tears erupted at last–they had just been waiting for an excuse to fall.

Joan, too, was spluttering even harder, fighting with every last bit of strength to keep from succumbing to the deep, chest-born sobs that were welling up and shaking her tiny body.

“She said she _loved_ me. _ME_. N-not one of the other kids, she loved _me_. S-she was the o-only one who did. S-she… She was gonna _adopt me_ …”

Katherine sniffled, swiftly wiping her eyes. Joan watched her with a deeply saddened expression, then looked out at the road ahead.

“And then–everything went wrong. Miss Aragon was dead and her blood was all over me and it was my fault.”

“She’s alive, Joan.” Katherine said, surprised at how steady her voice was. “I promise. She’s okay.”

“I know, but–” Joan shook her head, whimpering softly. The PTSD from the events of the prom set in fast for her, not that Katherine was really surprised. “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thank you.” Joan said again. “For letting me tell you that. It–it felt good. To get it out.”

Katherine smiled slightly. “I’m glad.” She reached over and gently took Joan’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “We’re going to be okay.”

Joan nodded.

“We can pick up some more clothes for you,” Katherine said, trying to switch to a more stable topic. “So you won’t have to wear the same thing all the time.”

“Clothes are good. Will I have a map?”

“I have one in the glove compartment.”

“But don’t you need it?”

“No, don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be okay without it.”

“…I’ll make a map for myself.”

“Heh, all right. We can get some paper and pens, too.”

“Walkie-talkies. We should have those, too!”

“I’m. not sure about that.”

“Don’t you want to stay in touch?”

“Of course.”

“So are you gonna buy walkie-talkies?”

“… _Maybe_.”

And they both laughed. For some reason, it made things feel better. Just for a little while. Even if the walkie-talkies were just a false sense of hope, because Katherine feared she wouldn’t see Joan Seymour ever again after tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And she’s done!!! This fic didn’t gain as much traction as I had hoped, but I still appreciate everyone who commented and left kudos, now and later on! They motivate me and make me so happy!
> 
> Also as of August 4th, 2020, this is the longest SIX fic!!!!!!!


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